


Modern Love

by Shampain



Series: Journeys, Unexpected [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barduil - Freeform, F/M, Gen, M/M, bagginshield, kiliel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:43:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 65,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard is a down on his luck single father working a thankless job as a courier, eternally worrying over when his daughter is going to start sneaking out of the house with boys. As if that wasn't bad enough, his assignments delivering files to Greenleaf Acquisitions puts him in contact with Thranduil, a stern businessman whose only champion is his assistant, Tauriel. And finally, to make matters worse, his friendship with Bilbo Baggins sends everything else into a tailspin. The summer is just beginning, and it's going to be a weird one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a dangerously hot day

**Author's Note:**

> I always want to write this kind of silly AU fanfic, and I never do because, well - I don't think my writing matches it and it doesn't end up very good and I think it sucks. But I'm going to ignore that! Here's some fic.  
> I'm going to keep writing it for as long as I can. It is going to be ridiculous and rom-com-tastic and silly and hopefully a little bit sexy. I also don't have time or a beta reader to make sure it's properly edited, so I hope there aren't TOO many mistakes to put you off. All that being said, I hope you enjoy it!

It was a dangerously hot day, and the last thing Bard really wanted to do was his job. But once he had shooed the kids to school, it was time for him to head in to the office and figure out his deliveries for the day.

As usual, Alfrid was in a particularly sour mood. Like most supervisor's in Bard's time, Alfrid had a penchant for misplacing blame and doing as little work as possible. Upon entering the blissfully air-conditioned office, Bard found himself rather painfully going through the motions – the same as yesterday, and the day before – of pretending to respect Alfrid. He'd learned long ago that if he didn't, his days turned out to be quietly sabotaged. Wrong directions and names and other bits of assorted information. Once, he'd ended up on the other side of the city almost signing over building plans from one company to its competitor, and it had nearly cost him his job. He'd learned his lesson after that.

“Late again, Bard,” Alfrid said, picking his teeth, and looking at the clock. Sometimes he sped the time forward by a few minutes, every so often, in order to confuse his employees.

“Sorry Alfrid,” Bard replied, depositing his bag in a cubby. “Traffic. What've I got?”

“Go check for yourself, I got things need doing.”

Bard turned away just as one of his coworkers emerged from the break room. They shared a good-natured eye roll behind Alfrid's back, and Bard reached behind the desk for his first assignment of the day.

There were already three destinations up for him, and he knew it would grow as the day went on. Turning on his personal GPS and making sure he was equipped with everything, he headed back out for his bike and got on his way.

Navigating the traffic was a lot like what he imagined it would be to boat through rapids. Sometimes whipping past him, at other times at a complete standstill, the traffic of the city growled like a living thing day and night. Weaving between cars, the heat of the sun that beat down on the back of his neck and shoulders whenever he left the shadow of a skyscraper.

He delivered a set of clothes to a fashion shoot, two usbs to various companies, and then several confidential correspondences. The heat made the work grueling and slower than usual, and when he came to his last job of the day before he had to head home he felt tired to his very bones.

The office he needed to reach was in one of the skyscrapers, and took up the entire fifteenth floor. The elevators dinged open in a plush layout in soft greens, whites and greys; the receptionist at the front desk gave him a set of convoluted directions. Her very manner made him apprehensive – by now he could read people rather easily when it came to their coworkers, supervisors, and head honchos. Just from the careful way she spoke, he had a feeling he was about to meet someone who would be, as his late wife might have said, 'a bit of a pill'.

He found the right hallway with only a small amount of trouble. It ended in a circular room, covered in the sort of paintings that were one breath away from being in a museum. A young woman sat at the desk in front of a gloriously carved mahogany door. Her coppery hair was piled atop her head but he could see just how long it was by the length of two pieces she had left hanging in front of her ears – they nearly reached her waist.

Though the receptionist at the elevator had been tense, this woman gave no indication of such feelings. She seemed easy and relaxed, and a smile of greeting spread across her freckled face as soon as he appeared. Admittedly, the grin seemed tinged with relief.

“You're the courier?” she asked. She spoke with a light English accent. “That's great. I was worried it wouldn't show up before he left for the afternoon.”

Bard pulled the envelope from his messenger bag. “And then he gets difficult?” he asked, dryly.

The woman laughed, surprised, then covered her mouth with her hand. “You have no idea,” she said. “I can take them from you.”

“Unfortunately, he needs to sign for them.”

She nodded, picked up her phone from the desk, and pressed a button. “The files are here, Mr Greenleaf,” she said.

A very deep, yet melodic, voice emanated from the speaker. “Just knock on the door next time, Tauriel, I'm not a child.”

She shrugged and hung up, and the next moment the office door opened and out he came. He was impressively tall, with long, silvery blond hair that was echoed in the pinstripes of his grey suit. He was the type of man for whom it was impossible to tell his age; he would likely look the same for half of his life.

Bard held out the envelope and clipboard to him. Greenleaf glared back. Well, not really – he just had the sort of eyes that turned the simplest of looks into a dagger. Then he held out his hand and his assistant quickly found a pen to place into it.

“Do you often look like the cat dragged you in?” he asked Bard, taking the clipboard from him and swiftly scrawling out a very elegant signature.

Bard was used to such responses. He simply shrugged. Greenleaf continued to stare at him. “I'm fond of cats,” Bard said, finally. “I let them do what they like.”

“A courier with a sense of humour, how quaint,” Greenleaf said. “I hope you shower next time.” He dropped the pen, forcing Bard to make a grab for it, before turning on his heel and stalking back into the office, sans envelope. Bard and Tauriel looked at each other.

“The file, Tauriel,” Greenleaf's deep voice wafted through the open office door with the projection of an actor onstage.

She leapt up with a surprising grace. He didn't usually see such sprightliness in receptionists. She gave him an apologetic smile before taking the envelope from him and following her boss into the office. She left the door open.

That done, Bard turned and headed back the way he came. If he hurried, he would make it home just in time to help Sigrid with dinner.

 

Life was a little bit easier once Sigrid had grown enough that she could be trusted to watch the house during the hours between their schooling ending and Bard returning home from work. Before then it had been a headache to arrange for the neighbours to watch his children while he was trying to make a living. Summer was looming, though, and soon she would have to be responsible for the house full-time while they were all out of school. He had a feeling he would need to cut his hours in half, unless he coudl scrounge up enough money for summer camp.

The cramped apartment was almost hotter than it was outside. The sound of all the fans going and the television blaring the latest sitcom greeted him once he opened the door. He peeked his head into the living room, and was glad that while Tilda and Bain were watching they at least had their homework open in front of them while they lounged on the floor.

“Hey da,” Sigrid said, when he found her at the stove. He kissed her on the top of the head. “Can you pick up groceries tomorrow? We've got enough milk for breakfast tomorrow but that's it.”

“I'll get them after work. How was your day?”

Sigrid stirred the spaghetti sauce. Whenever she didn't answer him immediately he knew something was wrong, but he'd learned not to pry too much. She would speak in her own time. He felt like Sigrid had become a foreign creature once she'd turned twelve, and it had taken some time for him to start figuring her out. He didn't truly understand her, but he understood her habits, at least. He was not looking forward to Tilda undergoing the same transformation.

“Charlie asked me to the summer dance,” she said. “Over break. Do you think I could go?”

For a second, Bard thought that maybe getting up and running back out the door would be a good idea, but that wasn't a very fatherly thing to do. Instead he got up and went over to the fridge for a beer.

“Da,” she said, after giving him time to crack the tab and take a long drink.

“I don't even know who Charlie is,” he said. That was the best excuse he could come up with, but he already felt it was the wrong thing to say.

Sigrid jumped at it. “I could introduce you to him,” she said. “Next week.”

“Look, Sigrid-”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say, because suddenly she was looking at him like she was a wildcat, not the cute kitten he was used to. That was the terror of daughters. “Look, _da_ ,” she said. “I do half the cooking, half the cleaning. I watch Bain and Tilda, I get mostly A's-”

“I'll think about it,” Bard said, desperately. “Let me think about it, Sigrid. When's the dance?”

The dig for details calmed her. “June 30th,” she said. “Please, da?”

“I'll think about it, alright?”

Momentarily sated, she turned back to the stove. Bard drank down the rest of his beer and got up to go see Tilda, so that he might enjoy her unquestionable love now before it disappeared in a wave of hormones.


	2. the shire

Bard delivered files to Greenleaf Acquisitions eight more times over the next few weeks. Most of the time he was able to simply hand them to Tauriel, but twice he needed Greenleaf's signature. Both times he was the same intense, slick figure, in a suit that made him look like a knife. He appeared more mellow, though. He at least seemed less disgusted with Bard's appearance, at any rate.

The days were going by fast for him, counting down to when the kids would be out of school. He did as much work as he could, even working on weekends. One Saturday, during a particularly busy lunch hour, he walked into The Shire, a cafe two blocks away from Greenleaf Acquisitions. He hadn't delivered there that day, but he had gone into the building for a different company, and The Shire seemed like the best place to sit down with an iced coffee.

He'd been there before because he knew the owner, a jolly man named Bilbo Baggins. It was the kind of stylish coffee shop that managed to straddle the delicate line that stopped it from being pretentious or unimaginative. Sigrid loved it there in the three times he had taken her, and he had a feeling she would do anything to get a job making cappuccinos and flirting with customers. Ah, to be young again and have goals that involved so little.

He shouldn't have been surprised when he walked in and saw Tauriel, owing to the nearby presence of her office, but he was. She was sitting at a table in the corner, reading a book. Her suit jacket was off and hanging over the back of her chair, and she had a half-eaten sandwich and some sort of pastry in front of her.

He walked past her, not expecting her to recognize or notice him; as a courier he was used to being ignored. But on his way back, after securing his coffee and deciding he'd be more comfortable finding a park bench to sit down at, she looked up.

“Oh, hello, Bard,” she said. She was almost shy. Without the desk, she seemed to have lost her crisp, professional manner. Unlike her boss, she had a softer way of speaking, almost gentle. It probably led some people to mistake her for a shrinking violet. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“I don't know if you remember, I'm Tauriel, I work for Greenleaf Acquisitions?” she said, hurriedly, and that made him remember that just because she was a clean-cut woman in an office building, it didn't mean she wasn't human.

“Yes, I remember,” he said, almost apologetically. “How's your day been so far?”

“Long. But I guess they all are. Saturdays are the worst.”

“You on your break?”

“Yeah.” She lowered her book. “Are you? Would you like to join me?”

Bard's instinct was to turn her down, but he recognized it for what it was. He was bad with people, lately; even Sigrid noticed. She said he needed to get out more. Maybe that was because she wanted to do whatever it was teenage girls did when they had the house to themselves, but he knew she was right, too. So he nodded and sat down across from her, and she closed her book.

“Look, I know it's not my place,” she said, picking up her latte. “I mean, if he wants to apologize he will eventually. But Thranduil isn't so bad. Mr Greenleaf,” she explained, at his questioning look. “He's a good man, he just gets wrapped up in business a lot. His mood kind of reflects what's going on around him. But he's really very kind.”

Bard tipped his head to the side, skeptically. He hadn't pegged her for being naive. “Really?” he asked. “You believe all that?”

She just laughed. “I know it,” she said. “He was my neighbour growing up and his son is my best friend. I guess I'm a bit biased, but I know him outside the office. Businessmen are notoriously two-faced, don't you find? But I'm serious when I say his nice mask is the real him and he puts on the mean one for work.”

“Well, that must be nice,” Bard said, dryly. “My boss is a greasy, destructive bastard who can't get anything done, and I'm sure that's not a mask, just the way he is.”

“That happens a lot too,” Tauriel mused. “I used to work at this clothing store when I was in university – I had to quit because my supervisor made me do all of her work and I couldn't cut it between my studies.”

“How's the poppyseed?”

Unseen, Bilbo Baggins had crept up. He was a stout-ish man, perpetually clad in trousers, suspenders and a waistcoat. His curly hair usually looked like it was trying to escape his scalp. Despite his looks he was the most silent person Bard had ever met; he could have made a decent cat burglar.

Tauriel didn't look startled, though, the way Bard felt. “I haven't tried it yet but I'm sure it'll be divine,” she said. “Thank you, Mr Baggins.”

“I see you know Bard,” he said. He clapped him on the shoulder. Long ago, Bilbo had been the snobbish sort, snubbing most people and preferring his own company; Bard knew because they used to work at the same restaurant when they were younger and more reckless. But then he'd met a man named Thorin Oakenshield, and that had all changed. “How did you ever get the pleasure?”

“I've delivered some files to her office a few times,” Bard said, hurriedly, because Tauriel suddenly looked very shy. “How do you know her?”

“Why, she's my best taste tester,” Bilbo said. “I've seen her eat six pastries in one sitting and she still looks like she can slip between a door jamb.”

“You make me sound like glutton,” Tauriel asked, with a small laugh.

“Gluttons are my favourite kind of people,” Bilbo said, seriously. He turned to Bard. “Haven't seen you in ages, Bard, but I've been meaning to ask you. With the summer starting I could use some part time help. I thought perhaps that daughter of yours might be interested – if she's as smart as you, she'd make a great member for our team.”

“She's smarter than I am, in all likelihood,” Bard said. “But... I'm not sure she's old enough.”

“Well, you talk it through with her if you want. Some of my baristas are going on vacation. Thorin's going to exile his nephews to me, but I could do with more help.”

Once Bilbo had gone, Tauriel gave Bard a canny look. “How old is your daughter?”

“She's sixteen.”

“Ah.” She knowingly took a bite out of her sandwich. He scowled at her. She chewed lengthily, swallowed, and failed at looking innocent.

“What?” he asked.

“I used to be a sixteen year old girl,” she said. “And I was difficult as Hell. I used to get into fights with the girls at my school. I'm still proud to say that I'm responsible for seven nose jobs.”

“Sigird isn't like that.”

“Probably not, but there's a whole lot of ways for teenagers to express themselves,” she said. “Especially girls.”

“Were you rough on your father, then?”

She paused, for a moment. “No,” she said. “I don't think I was.”

Suddenly, her phone went off, buzzing madly from where it sat at the table on her elbow. She picked it up and a fold appeared between her eyebrows. “Shit,” she said. She got to her feet, hurriedly slinging her jacket back on, picking up her purse. “I have to go, you eat that,” she said, nodding to the poppyseed scone before cramming her sandwich into her mouth and rushing out the door. She moved pretty quickly for someone wearing four inch heels, he had to admit.

And the poppyseed scone turned out to be amazing.

 

 

When Bard got home, he toured the apartment suspiciously. Tauriel had made him paranoid, and he thought again how he suspected that maybe Sigrid was using his weekends where he worked as a way of inviting boys over to spend time with them.

But when he arrived with a few bags of groceries, she was sitting in her bedroom talking on the phone. The snippet of conversation he heard involved someone named Charlotte and how horrible she was, so he had to assume she was gossiping to a friend, and not a potential boyfriend. Or actual boyfriend. Bard hadn't yet conjured up the courage to ask her if that Charlie fellow she'd mentioned was trying to ask her out on dates.

It was Bain's turn with dinner, and he was making a righteous mess of it. On the bright side, he'd managed to cook the fish; on the dimmer side, the fish had broken into several pieces all over the pan. “It's already dead, Bain,” Bard teased. “You don't have to be so rough on it.”

His son was a good boy; perhaps a bit shy, a bit confused, but so was every boy his age. He was growing up well; after complaining the first couple of times about how cooking was for girls, Bard had pointed out that he himself had always helped with dinner, even before their mother had passed, and that food was a responsibility for the whole family. After that, he'd dutifully prepared salad and cut up bread, before finally starting to use the frying pan a few months ago.

“It just falls apart!” Bain exclaimed, frustrated.

“Go unpack the groceries, I'll deal with this,” he said, nudging his son away from the stove. It was damn hot in the apartment, especially in the kitchen, but he didn't reach for a beer just yet. He gave himself a limit of only one drink per day, and sometimes he didn't do that. He would today, but he was going to save it for dinner.

Bain put the milk and eggs in the fridge, and pulled out the bread. “Hey, da,” he said. “Do we have enough for camp, this year?”

Bard turned to look at his son. He felt again that deep, pressing feeling, that fear of failing his children. He'd never felt it before until his wife was gone. “I'm trying, Bain,” he said. “I really am. As soon as I can, I'll register you and Tilda. You don't deserve to rot here all summer.”

Bain shook his head. “No, da,” he said, “I just wanted to say, I mean... I don't have to go.”

“What?”

“I don't have to go.”

“Bain, you love it in Laketown.”

“I know,” he said, carefully. “It's just that... if you can't afford to send me. You should send Tilda at least. I could stay. I could probably get a job now, I'm old enough.”

Bard stopped, and set down the spatula, giving his son a good, long look. “Come here, Bain,” he said, seriously, holding out his arm. He hugged his son tightly, in what he hoped was a reassuring grip.

“There's no reason for you to work unless you want to,” he said. The only child he wanted to worry about this summer was Sigrid, after all. “I'll get you and your sister to camp this year, if it's the last thing I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to mention here that I switched the kids' ages! Technically, Bain is the oldest by a year, but in the movies Sigrid always struck me as the eldest, so I went with that. Also I find the idea of Bard dealing with a hormonal teenage daughter more entertaining, okay???


	3. the green dragon

It was a drizzly Thursday morning. Bard knew he looked less than stellar when he stepped out of the elevator onto Greenleaf's floor, his hair frizzing about his face with the elegance of a used mop.

At the end of that long and intimidating hallway, Tauriel was trying to straighten a painting on the west wall. She had a run in her stocking and was cursing under her breath, balanced on a small, upended garbage bin.

“Hallo,” Bard said. She turned.

“Oh, hello Bard,” she said. “He's just in-”

“Tauriel,” Greenleaf said, opening his office door. His long, silvery hair was pulled back in a bun. He looked tense. “Go and get me some damn coffee, won't you? Americano, extra shot. Leave room for Baileys.”

Tauriel stood there, obviously suddenly caught between doing her job and being polite to Bard. He decided to rescue her from it by heading directly towards Greenleaf. “I need you to sign for this,” he said.

Tauriel hopped down from her makeshift stool and picked up her purse, quickly clicking away on her heels. Greenleaf turned his attention onto Bard. “Give it to me, then,” he said, motioning him forward.

Bard handed him the clipboard. To his surprise, Greenleaf took a moment to look over the form. Not before he gave Bard a long look from head to toe, though.

“I suppose it's raining,” he said, picking up a pen.

“Don't you have a window in that office? You look like you would.”

He paused, raising his eyebrow at Bard, but there was a little smile hovering around his mouth. “I face away from it,” he said. “I don't look out of it very much. It's a good thing I have other people to let me know what's what.”

“I hope you have a raincoat, I don't imagine you can get those clothes wet.”

“I do have a raincoat, thank you for your concern.” When had they suddenly started joking with one another? Bard was pretty sure that was what was happening. Greenleaf signed for the files, and then put the pen back on Tauriel's desk.

“My assistant seems to think I've been rude, lately,” he said. At Bard's blank look, he continued. “You know, Tauriel? The ginger? Wears a lot of green? Sits right here.”

“I know who she is.”

“Well, she told me I've been unfair, which wouldn't mean much for most people, but apparently she's grown fond of you. You're the only courier in the past six months who hasn't looked at or treated her like she's a piece of meat. I'm interested in retaining your services for the long run if you keep that kind of behaviour up, and she's pointed out you might be less than willing if I'm-”

“Hostile?” Bard suggested.

He levelled a look at him. “Difficult,” he said, dryly. “Now, as a professional courtesy, allow me to buy you a drink tonight in apology. Eight o'clock at the bar across the street, providing you own a pair of pants that don't have holes in them.”

Bard raised his eyebrows. “I'm not sure I can make that,” he said. “I've got a family to look after.”

“Well, regardless, I'm there every Thursday anyway, so swing by if you can. I'm prepared to shell out money for the good stuff.”

“She's that good of an assistant, is she?”

Greenleaf gave Bard a look that was very cold. “She's not just an assistant,” he said. He held out his hand for the envelope, which Bard handed to him.

“Eight o'clock, Green Dragon,” he said, stepping away. “Ask for Thranduil.”

 

Naturally, Bard had no intention of going, but he made the mistake at mentioning it after dinner, while he and Sigrid were doing the dishes.

His daughter gave him a disbelieving look as he handed her a plate to dry off. “You're serious, da?” she asked. “Someone actually wants to see you outside of work and you're going to sit home and watch game shows instead?”

“I am not,” he said. “I have a book to finish.”

“Da!”

“Look, it's not a friendly thing,” he pointed out. “It's his assistant guilting him into it.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Sigrid!”

“I'm just asking,” she said, with a little, almost petulant toss of her head. She was teasing him and they both knew it. “If they're people you know professionally, you should be nice, anyway,” she continued. “Isn't that what you're always saying, why you let people treat you the way you do? Professionalism.”

“It's different.”

She shrugged her shoulders, taking the next plate from him. “If someone wants to be nice to you instead of horrible, I don't see what the big deal is,” she said. “I know you just want to sit at home, da, but I swear. It'll just make you more tired. Maybe if you got out a little more you wouldn't be exhausted all the time.”

“Sigrid.”

She looked at the clock on the wall. “It's seven thirty,” she said, simply. She nudged him out of the way and plunged her hands into the soapy water. He just continued to look at her. She looked back.

“You get that from your mother,” he said, removing his hands from the sink in defeat and wiping his hands on the kitchen towel.

“Be back before eleven,” she said, primly, with a smile on her face. “That's your curfew.”

 

He had one pair of jeans that were clean that didn't have holes at the knees. He expected a very fancy sort of setup, having never been in the Green Dragon before; but while it was classy, it certainly wasn't the Ritz. It was a pub, with a warm atmosphere, and while there was a lot of carved wood and leather booths, the beer was as frosty and cold as it should be.

Greenleaf had a booth in the back. “I always take my meetings here,” he explained, when Bard took a seat. “Everyone seems more agreeable than they ever do in a five star restaurant. Scotch, bourbon, or beer?”

“Why those three?”

“You don't strike me as a wine or highball man.”

Bard shrugged off his jacket. “Bourbon,” he said. “What do you drink?”

It was then the waitress wandered up, with a familiar smile on her face. “Maker's Mark, two doubles,” he said. “What made you accept my invitation? This morning it looked like you'd rather punch me in the face.”

“Did I?” Bard asked. “I'm much better at emoting than I thought. Truth to tell, my daughter made me. Personally I think she just wants me gone so she can tie up the phone line, but she tends to get what she wants.”

“Daughters can be that way.” Greenleaf leaned back against the plush leather seat. “What about your wife?”

Bard took a moment to inspect the carving along the edge of the table. “She died,” he said. “Five years back. My daughter is the lady of the house now.”

“An important job.” Greenleaf looked up while the drinks were set down, waiting for the girl to be gone before continuing. Bard watched his face, surprised to find more than the usual steel there. “My own wife passed, a long time ago. But I was able to afford nannies.”

Dead wives in common; that was a weird and uncomfortable topic. Greenleaf seemed to realized that, because he was quick to talk about something else. “What drives a man to become a courier?” he asked. “I've never considered it a very romantic job.”

“Oh, that's easy,” Bard said. “Desperation. That and it was one of the few jobs where I if I need to suddenly head towards the school, I could go without trouble and just pass assignments off to another courier.”

“A single working father,” Greenleaf said, amused, picking up his drink. “That sounds about as cliched as it gets.”

“Almost as cliched as a slave driving businessman,” Bard said. They clinked their glasses together.

It actually wasn't so bad. They talked for almost two hours, and Bard found the other rather amusing and engaging, though he still remained somewhat standoffish. The biggest surprise was the very fact that Greenleaf didn't look down his nose at him; apparently it wasn't his job that he had taken offence to all those weeks ago, but the way Bard was presenting himself. And the fact that, according to Tauriel, he wore his bad moods on the surface.

By the time it was ten Bard had had four glasses of bourbon, and he was experiencing a pleasant, swimming sensation. It was time to lay off the drink if he wanted to be in a good enough state tomorrow morning to make breakfast and get to work, though. Greenleaf was lazing back in the booth, a kind of smirk on his face usually attributed to a cat with a canary.

“Don't you have work in the morning?” Bard asked.

“I'm the boss; I do what I want. But yes, technically. What about you?”

“My daughter gave me an eleven o'clock curfew, so I think it's time to head out.”

“Well, we clearly need to schedule for a night when you're allowed to stay out later.” He raised his hand, signalling for the bill. And then an odd thing happened: when he lowered his hand, it ended up on Bard's knee.

Bard looked at Greenleaf for a moment, to make sure that this was no accident, and when the other man met his eyes he knew it wasn't. “You,” Bard said, “are hitting on me.”

“Absolutely,” Greenleaf replied.

“I should get going,” Bard said, getting up, brushing his hand away. He was more unsteady than he wanted to be. “Thanks for the drinks; I'll see you around.”

“Bard-” Greenleaf began, but he was already walking off.

The streets were crisp and cool and refreshing after the hot atmosphere of the pub. The rain had cleaned the air out. He had a nice, long walk ahead of him until he reached the train station that would take him most of the way home, and he was looking forward to it.

“Bard.” Damn. He hadn't expected Greenleaf to follow. Walking fast had seemed below him.

Bard turned on his heel. He'd nearly made it to the corner before he'd been caught. Greenleaf certainly hadn't been the first man to express interest in him; only, the last time it had happened, he had been happily engaged to his soon-to-be wife at the time. And he certainly had enough on his plate to find the idea of any relationship, regardless of sexuality, to be completely impossible.

“I do hope you're not offended,” Greenleaf said. Bard was glad to see that some of the cool demeanour had vanished, likely due to the bourbon; he looked about as ruffled as Bard felt.

“I'm not,” Bard replied. “Honestly. I'm just not interested.”

“Why not?”

For some reason, that stopped Bard completely. He felt the answer should be obvious, yet he couldn't find the words for it. “I have a lot to do.”

“I thought you were going to say it was because you didn't like men.”

“What made you think I did?”

“I didn't think you liked men,” Greenleaf replied, patiently, as if he was trying to explain something very simple to someone very stupid. “I thought perhaps you may like me, though.”

“And you like me?”

“I like you enough.”

Bard shook his head and started to walk away again, but Greenleaf reached out and caught his arm. “What's the problem?” he asked.

“Everything.”

“You're lying,” Greenleaf said. He tugged on Bard's elbow. “You don't think it's worth the trouble. Give me five minutes to make a case.”

“Are you serious?” As if Bard was an investor Greenleaf was pitching an idea to. It was so ludicrous, Bard started to laugh. “Look, I've nothing against it. I've just never been interested in it. So if you don't mind-”

“Just five minutes, Bard.”

Bard rolled his eyes skyward. “Fine,” he said. “Five minutes. Make your case, then I'm leaving.”

Greenleaf tugged on Bard's elbow, again, but this time his grip tightened until it was almost painful. But he didn't pay much attention to that, because he was more concerned about the fact that Greenleaf was kissing him.

Bard shoved him off. “What are you doing?” he sputtered.

Greenleaf grabbed at the front of Bard's jacket. “Making my case,” he said. He shoved Bard into the alleyway, pressing him up against the wall. “So please, pay attention.”

If he wanted to, he could have easily shoved the other man away. He knew that, but for some reason he couldn't, because for the first time in a very long time there was a warm body pressing against his. It was stronger, firmer than he was used to, but it was not unpleasant. His hand, which he meant to use to shove Greenleaf away, ended up on the other man's shoulder before slipping to his neck. His long hair felt silky and cool.

Greenleaf pushed close. His mouth was hungry, and Bard couldn't think of anything but his lips, his tongue. He couldn't remember the last time he'd kissed so rabidly and it was a thrilling feeling, almost as thrilling as the hand slipping along the inside of his thigh.

He made a noise of surprise and Greenleaf pulled back, his lips wet and his cheeks flushed. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

Bard swallowed. “Has it been five minutes yet?” he asked. In answer, the hand slid further up the inside of his leg and brushed him through his jeans, and Bard pushed his shoulders firmly back against the alley wall because his knees suddenly felt weak. Greenleaf kissed him again, just as rough as before, grinding his body up against his.

Bard gripped the back of his jacket, keeping the other man close. It felt good, really good. Too good. He broke the kiss, gasping. “I think that's been five minutes,” he breathed.

Greenleaf stopped kissing him but he didn't back off, just pressed his mouth to Bard's ear. “I get it,” he breathed. “You have responsibilities, but you don't have to work all the time. We could have fun together.”

“I need to head home,” Bard murmured.

Greenleaf pulled away and Bard felt very cold. “Do you know the Bridge Hotel?” he asked. “Meet me there tomorrow. Six o'clock. I won't keep you long unless you want me to.”

Instead of answering, Bard drew away. “Goodnight, Greenleaf.”

“Thranduil. I want you to call me Thranduil.” _I want you_.

“Goodnight, Thranduil,” Bard said. He stepped out of the alleyway and began the long slog home.


	4. saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfrid makes an enemy.

Bard woke up in a sweaty, tangled mess the next morning, and it took awhile to sort himself out into looking relatively normal, which meant a shower. By the time he'd trooped to the kitchen, Tilda was already making a mess on the table with a bowl of fruit loops. “Good morning,” he said, dropping a kiss to her head. He'd mop the spills up before he left for work.  
Sigrid came in wearing makeup, and for a moment that made Bard want to rethink his decision for working another Saturday. Instead, he battled down that urge and told himself to trust in her. “Bain still asleep?” he asked, when she came up to give him a good morning kiss, leaving a lipgloss imprint on his cheek.  
“Yup,” she said. “Are you making pancakes?”  
Bard hated pancakes; he'd grown up far poorer than he was now, and he'd sometimes spent days, even weeks eating just pancakes for every meal, because it was one of the cheaper things his parents could wrangle together. His wife, however, had loved them, and so did his children, so he never minded making some for them when they asked.  
Saturday shifts started a little bit later than the weekdays, and were often slower, but it was still decent enough work. And it gave him time to have more of a morning with the kids. “You got home late last night,” Sigrid said, pouring herself a glass of juice. Of course she'd noticed; it was her responsibility to track when and where her father was, unfortunately.  
When Bard had finally pulled himself from Thranduil's embrace and started for home, it had already been eleven at night. Thranduil had been very forthright, informing Bard that they would have dinner at six and if nothing came of it, then that was fine. And Bard had taken comfort in that, and then less than two hours later he'd found himself shoving the other man against the side of an elevator in the Bridge Hotel and cramming his tongue down his throat. It had certainly escalated from there.  
“It was later than I expected,” Bard said, carefully. But his daughter wasn't prying for information, it turned out; she was just leading up to turning on the coffee machine for him.  
He was surprised, but then again, Bard always supposed his children were as intensely interested in what he did all day as he was with them. But since he'd never done much beyond work, there was little evidence to back that theory up. Apparently, being the father meant he was allowed his secrets – or at least it was assumed he didn't have any.  
“Anything planned for today?” he asked her.  
“Nope,” Sigrid answered, sitting down next to Tilda. She rubbed the top of her sister's head and grinned when Tilda wrinkled her nose at her. Bard didn't really believe her, but that was based purely on the fact she was wearing eyeshadow. So instead he turned away and went to making breakfast.  
Before he left for work, he made sure to pull Sigrid close in a tight hug. “I'll be home early,” he said. “Thank you for watching your brother and sister for me.”  
“It's cool as long as you bring back pizza,” she said.  
“Con artist,” he said.  
“Of course,” she said, squirming out of his grasp with a grin.

Generally, Bard was a very calm person. But Alfrid made him want to consider a spell in prison as completely worth it if it meant he could murder the man.  
Alright, not really. But Bard did consider taking the biggest phone book he could find and smashing it into his supervisor's face.  
“You're doing less deliveries right now than ever before,” Alfrid was saying. “You're getting slow, Bard.”  
Of course, the fact that Alfrid only sent him assignments that took him from one end of downtown to the other, repeatedly, was to blame for that. Bard reminded himself that he was the smartest one in the room and, really, should feel sorry for Alfrid. It didn't help. “I'm making record time across the CBD,” he said, patiently.  
“And it's too much time, still. I'm putting you on some new routes.”  
New routes, fantastic. New codes to learn, new buildings to navigate. That would slow him down also. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Will the others be willing to take some of mine?”  
“Never you mind what the others are willing to do,” Alfrid sneered. “I've already sent some out. You just wait around until I find something you're able to do.”  
Deep breaths, Bard. Remember zen.  
He wasn't the only employee who was there on Saturday and then suddenly waylaid. He reminded himself that Alfrid wasn't just striking out at Bard; he was in fact targeting the couriers who were being forced to pick up Bard and everyone else's 'slack'. Those poor souls were sweating it out trying to make breakneck deliveries while everyone else sat around. Of course, that only made Bard angrier; seeing other people treated with disrespect was worse than being the personal victim of it.  
Bard and one of his coworkers, a woman named Gemma, were both hiding in the very back of the break room like the responsible adults they pretended to be. Mostly because if they didn't, Alfrid tried to rope them into doing his job.  
The distant ring of the phone, however, heralded Alfrid shouting for Bard to come up to the front. “Someone just asked for you,” he said. “A woman. I told her you weren't here. Keep your personal engagements out of the work space, Bard.”  
“I haven't a clue what you're talking about,” he said. “Unless you just hung up on my daughter.”  
“Well, if it's an emergency she'll call back, won't she?”  
Where was a phone book? No, no. Zen.

Alfrid gave Bard two assignments, but when those dried up he was forced to troop back to the office and wait. Soon he would have to sign out and go home. Considering his pay was better when he had more assignments, he was starting to steam a bit.  
However, he'd just gotten back when the door to the building chimed behind him. Alfrid had opened his mouth to say something to Bard, but then froze. It had to be either a beautiful woman, or someone with a gun. Bard turned on his heel, hoping for the gun.  
It was Tauriel. She was wearing a pair of tight, bright green pants and a brown blouse, topped with a displeased look. Her hair was long and flowing, not up in its usual curls and buns. In all honesty, if Bard hadn't been so used to her looks by then, he might have been just as distracted as Alfrid.  
Her unpleasant look lifted for a moment when she saw him. “Bard,” she said. “You're still here. How have you been?”  
Before he could answer, Alfrid hurried from behind his desk. “Can I help you then, miss?” he oozed. He seemed torn between giving Bard an ugly look, and trying to keep both eyes on Tauriel.  
Tauriel's eyes flicked back to Alfrid, and her lips tightened. “Yes, hello,” she said, stepping closer. Even without heels she probably would have been taller than Alfrid. “I'm here to talk to you about your services today. I phoned to ask about Bard earlier?”  
“Ah, well, we've been having trouble with the phones lately,” Alfrid replied. Bard looked at the wall because for a moment this seemed too painful to watch – then he decided it wasn't and looked back.  
“Do you have an automated voice that says 'Bard's here, but we don't do personal calls'?” Tauriel asked. Her voice was back to being light, gentle, almost sweet, but only an idiot would miss the cold in her tone.  
Alfrid hesitated. She stepped closer. It was like watching a puma closing the distance between itself and a deer.  
“Do you know what I don't like?” Tauriel asked. “Working on Saturdays. Do you know what I'm doing? Working. On a Saturday. And I thought to myself, well, at least I'll see Bard. Because we had a delivery coming in and I put in a request that he be my default courier.”  
“We've had some complaints about Bard, lately.”  
“Well, they certainly haven't been coming from Greenleaf Acquisitions,” she said, undeterred. “Do you know what happened to me today, while I sat at my desk instead of enjoying a nice mojito out on a porch? A man came in to give me an envelope, and spent the entire time staring down my shirt. Like you are, right now,” Tauriel added.  
Alfrid looked back up at her face. “Well, can you blame us?” he replied, with what he likely hoped would be a charming smile.  
Tauriel did not seem impressed. Bard wished he had a way to alert the rest of the employees that this was going on so that they could all enjoy the show.  
She took a breath. “I decided to be kind,” she said, gently. “I didn't tell Mr Greenleaf about this. If there's one thing he hates, it's people not doing the job they're being paid to do. And your company's courier services are only being used because I happen to like Bard. And seeing as how I handle his entire schedule without a single mishap, Mr Greenleaf tends to agree with me on these matters.”  
Alfrid seemed to realize she wasn't stupid enough to fool, so he switched to the tactics he should have started with. “Look, we are really very sorry for any inconvenience,” he said. “We can make it up to you. Bard's been having some issues lately, you know, and I thought I would give him a break, cut down on his work.”  
Bard looked at him, but Alfrid ignored it.  
“We'll discount services for the next two days,” Alfrid oozed. “This is an oversight that won't happen again.”  
“Thank you,” Tauriel said, politely. She seemed mollified at least. “Make sure you send the billing to me. And the next time I call, you better put me through.”  
“I'll always pick up as long as it's you.”  
Tauriel gave Alfrid a calculating look, then turned away. “So, Bard,” she said. “I haven't seen you since Thursday. How's your daughter?”  
“Currently doing whatever it is that daughters do.”  
“Cold-blooded murder, then,” Tauriel said, with a nod. She glanced over at Alfrid, who was watching them closely. “Would you mind coming outside with me for a moment?”  
Outside, there was some form of privacy. “Look, I hope you don't take this the wrong way,” she said, carefully. “I just want to be clear, because I've had problems in the past – I'm not trying to engage you, romantically or sexually.”  
“Ouch,” Bard said. “Did you come up with that phrase in university?”  
“Absolutely. I used it at least every three months,” she replied, seeming relieved at his response. “This is the part where I look like a loser and get very awkward, but, I don't have a ton of friends I meet through work or elsewhere. A lot of my school friends have moved away. So I'm saying with complete nonchalance, if you ever want to hang out a bit, that would be fun.”  
“I'm flattered, Tauriel,” Bard said, already trying to figure out how awkward that would be, considering what he'd been doing with her boss the night before. “But you're, what? A decade younger than me? More?”  
“I have an old soul,” Tauriel said, teasingly. “And you don't seem too old and decrepit.”  
“And my kids?”  
“I'd love to meet them.”  
“I better get back inside before I'm fired,” Bard said. “But I'll see you next week, most likely. We can make plans then.”  
Tauriel popped on a pair of large, red sunglasses that obscured half of her face, but it didn't cover her smile. “Stay classy,” she told him, and started to walk off.  
Alfrid wandered out, just then, likely so he could watch the sway of her hips as she walked away. “Now that is a bona fide woman,” he said to Bard.  
If only he spoke a little louder, Bard thought wistfully. She didn't show it, but he had a feeling she was the sort to rip off a man's face and staple it to his ass.


	5. greenleaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Legolas returns from London, Tauriel has to deal with the antics of both him and his father.

Tauriel was enjoying her Sunday. It was ten o'clock and she was still gloriously rolling about in bed. If it weren't for her growling stomach and the sound of the door buzzer, she might have been able to last until noon.

Mumbling, she climbed out of bed and slipped on a fluttery housecoat that was little more than a slip of green silk before navigating her way to the front door. She was still tripping over the boxes in her apartment that hadn't been unpacked yet; they mouldered in the corners, filled with books and vases and DVDs. It had been four months, but she still hadn't found the time to sort everything.

The only things that really flourished in her space were the house plants, which were green and verdant. One of them was starting to bloom luscious pink flowers. She'd always had a bit of a green thumb, something she knew she must have gotten from the Greenleafs, somewhere down the road.

She pressed down on the intercom button. “Yes?” she asked.

“I'm back! Let me in, ginger.”

She laughed and buzzed to unlock the building door, then left the door to her apartment partially ajar as she went to turn on the coffee machine. She had a small place, but she was comfortable with that. If she wanted space then she would go outside, often to the park, or just on the porch.

She heard the creak of the door that heralded his arrival. Legolas resembled his father, but a bit stockier and a lot less turned out. He always seemed ill at ease in a suit, the way Tauriel felt herself, but she of course hadn't had the luxury of turning away from that kind of life.

Just then he was clad rather comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt. “No sweatpants?” she asked. “I'm shocked.”

“You're one to talk, you look like seductress of the forest in that getup.”

“I just got up!”

Legolas stepped up to give her the sort of hug that lifted her feet from the floor for a moment. “How was London?” she asked.

“Full of people and tea. I brought you back some biscuits.”

“Delicious.”

“Have you seen my father lately?”

Tauriel had to laugh at that, taking two mugs down from the cupboard. “I see your father five to seven times a week.”

“He makes you work on Sundays?”

“Family dinner, you idiot. You're coming, right?”

Legolas frowned. Tauriel glared. “He's _your_ father,” she said. “But when you run off spending his money around the world I'm the only one he's got. You need to spend more time with him.”

“Every time I do he just criticizes me.”

“That is literally the definition of fathers, I'm pretty sure.”

Legolas scowled and retrieved the almond milk for her. “Like you said, he's mine, not yours. You don't have to spend time with him.”

“I work for him, it happens anyway.”

“You don't _have_ to work for him.”

Tauriel just shook her head. “I want to pay him back,” she said, “And this is the easiest way.”

“You don't _have_ to pay him back.”

“I _want_ to.” Her relaxing morning had somehow gotten stressful, and she picked up her mug and headed for the couch in a huff. Once she had settled in, Legolas clambered over the back to join her, careful not to spill his own coffee.

“Don't be mad at me, please,” he said. “You know how iffy life becomes when you're angry with me. I'm sorry.”

She rolled her eyes. “You and him are both selfish brats,” she said, sipping her coffee. “You just go about it in different ways.”

“You're probably right.”

“I _am_ right.”

Legolas set his coffee cup down and moved to free a section of hair from behind her ear. “Okay, you're right,” he said, beginning to braid it. It was probably Thranduil's influence, why they both kept their hair so long. And ever since they were kids they'd spend hours in the backyard, braiding each other's hair. “Are you almost done paying him back yet? You probably get a pretty good salary.”

“Better than you.”

“I'll come to dinner tonight, but if he tells me I need to inherit the family business again, I feel fully within my rights to throw a temper tantrum.”

“You'll both throw tantrums, and I'll sit there eating my greens. It'll be awesome.”

“Let's get drunk first.”

“It's not even noon yet.”

“Then we have a lot of time before dinner.”

 

On the outside, Tauriel was the good influence and Legolas the bad one. In reality, it was a mixture of both. They routinely interrupted each other's goals, whatever it might have been – pacifism, celibacy, vegetarianism, alcoholism. Good or bad, it was often derailed, back and forth.

At dinner, Thranduil had expressly stated he wished Legolas had more responsibility, like Tauriel. Tauriel, who did her best to accomplish what she set out to do, had been drunk almost the entire day, or at least from noon until the five o'clock dinner. She sipped from her wine glass and watched the chaos erupt with the distinct lack of compassion that came from too many lemon drop shots. She wondered at how much Legolas had sobered up; completely, or if at all.

They were basically her adopted family, which meant that she loved them more than the parents who had abandoned her. But that didn't mean she had to put up with them all the time. She excused herself, slipping into the kitchen to steal a plate of dessert, before going outside to take a walk around the block, unconcerned about how she might look – a solo woman in a dress eating cake from a china set.

This wasn't the block she had grown up on; that one had been slightly less opulent, but only slightly, and Legolas had been her neighbour during the younger years. By the time she'd discovered she could no longer pay for school, Thranduil had already moved to this neighbourhood, his business having grown to allow for the move. The week after her bankruptcy she had moved in with the Greenleafs and was resuming her studies. She owed them a lot, but they were a bit crazy.

She sat down at the end of the street with a copse of willows. The wine made her head feel heavy, and the idea of having a nap in the grass was incredibly tempting. She had finished her cake and was watching the waterfall decoration with interest when she heard steps coming down the street. It would be father or son, certainly.

She was only slightly less surprised to find Thranduil coming up and leaning his shoulder against the tree. Usually Legolas was the one who lost his cool first and stormed off. “Hi,” she said.

“Am I too hard on him, Tauriel?” he asked.

Tauriel rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “I believe you're hard on everybody,” she said. Including himself, of course, but she didn't mention that.

He sighed. “I want the best for both of you,” he said, holding out his hand. “Come get off the grass.”

“What about my plate?”

“Just leave it.”

“But it's part of a set.”

“Are you drunk, Tauriel?”

She blinked up at him. He sighed. “Bring the plate,” he said. He helped her up and let her hook her arm through his elbow and lean on him as they walked.

She remembered his wife, vaguely. Tauriel and Legolas had been very young when she'd died. But she had been a beautiful lady, with long chestnut hair and the kind of laugh that sounded like wind chimes. She grew lots of flowers and made the best lemonade Tauriel had ever tasted.

Tauriel used to pretend that Mr and Mrs Greenleaf were her aunt and uncle and Legolas was her cousin. They seemed like more of a real family than her own. She wondered if Thranduil had smiled and laughed more when his wife was alive; Tauriel couldn't really remember, but probably.

But if Legolas and Thranduil couldn't take care of themselves without a mother and wife around, the job fell to Tauriel to keep an eye on them. Even if it it irritated them.

“Legolas considers himself very bohemian, and refuses to stay under my roof. Of course, he also forced me to claim I'm cutting him off, at least for the next few days.” She understood his problem. He didn't want his son either going on the street or staying with some questionable friends, but he didn't want to take back what he said, either.

She sighed. “He can stay with me.”

“In your little shoebox?”

“Shoeboxes are meant to hold pairs.”

Thranduil shook his head. “Well, you two are far from identical,” he said. “If only I could ask for my money back.”

“That was mean.”

They had arrived at the front door. In a rare show of affection, Thranduil took the plate from her and then pressed a very light kiss on her forehead. It was odd; he'd only ever done that when she was in true distress, or he was feeling particularly proud, like when she'd gotten her degree. “You're a good girl, Tauriel,” he said. “Your parents were fools who wasted everything they had.”

He went inside. Tauriel had to wonder if Thranduil realized he was risking doing the same thing.

The upstairs window opened and Legolas leaned out, his long blond hair hanging around the kind of face that sold wrist watches and colognes. “Please get me out of here,” he said. “I'll do anything. I'll sing and dance. I'll clean your bathroom. I'll run naked through the streets.”

Looking up, Tauriel swayed a little on her feet. “Pack your bags, Juliet,” she said. “Romeo is taking you home.”

How she'd managed to become comfortable being the babysitter for two grown men, she had no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a Tauriel chapter! Actually, this story was never meant to be focused right on Bard, but what goes on with him needed to be told first in order to get the ball rolling. Starting now, a lot of perspectives are going to be used, though Bard of course is still going to be one of the main ones.


	6. fairy godfather

Bard didn't remember the last time he had been this irritated. He dialled the numbers with angry fingers.

“Greenleaf Acquisitions, can I connect you?”

“Tauriel, please.” He knew if he asked for Thranduil himself, he would be denied. He listened for the click as he was connected.

“This is Tauriel.”

“Tauriel, connect me to Greenleaf _right now_.”

She definitely recognized his voice. “Uuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmm okay,” she said. “One sec.”

Yesterday, Tilda had practically tackled him as he came through the door, utterly gleeful at the fact he had signed her up for summer camp. Bain, too, was incredibly happy. Apparently, Sigrid had answered the phone and the camp organizer had wanted confirmation that the two children would be attending in two weeks time. When Bard called himself later and left a message of enquiry, he'd gotten a return call the next day informing him that all the dues had been paid.

In short, he was pissed off.

“How dare you usurp me like that!” he began shouting, as soon as Thranduil's deep voice emanated through the speaker. An old lady gave Bard an offended look, but he glared back and she hurried away. Yeah, he didn't care if she was old, he was allowed to shout into his phone in the middle of the sidewalk if he wanted to. “I am not your boyfriend, I am not your charity case, and I am not comfortable with you deciding to sign my flesh and blood away for the summer without even a mention to me!”

There was a long pause.

“I was trying to do something nice,” Thranduil replied, sternly.

“You failed!” Bard shouted into his phone. Then he hung up. It was incredibly satisfying.

He should never have mentioned it. Leave it to spoilt businessmen to think they could get involved in literally anything and it would be alright, as if their meddling had no consequences. It wasn't that Bard was upset at his children leaving; in fact the camp, which taught not only boating but also essential marine and biology skills, was incredibly useful for Tilda and Bain. Sigrid had gone for her final year there last summer. It was merely the fact that in one movement Thranduil had made Bard feel useless as a father, and that was not something he would tolerate. As far as he was concerned, his children were the only good things he had going for him.

His phone rang again, and the number that showed up was from Master Courier Services. He stifled an angry sigh and answered. Once he'd hung up it rang again almost immediately, and he answered it in a huff. “What?” he asked, thinking it was Alfred again.

“Should we talk about this?” Thranduil asked.

Oh, for the love of- “That would require me wanting to talk to you.”

“What about seeing me when you're calmer and we could talk then?”

“I might hit you in the face, and that might mess up your plastic surgery.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn't.”

Thranduil paused. “Well,” he said, tightly. “That was embarrassing.”

“Good.”

“Inconsiderate.”

“Oh, you're not allowed to call me that after what you did,” Bard fumed.

“What if I buy you dinner?”

“I'm not a rented whore, you sonuvabitch,” Bard snapped. Then he paused and looked around. Maybe now was the time to have this conversation in private. “I'll talk to you when I'm ready and not before.”

“Fine!” Thranduil snapped.

 

It was motherfucking Tauriel and her insistence on Bard being the motherfucking default courier. Mother. Fuck.

He wasn't actually mad at Tauriel, he was just frustrated by this whole thing and convinced Thranduil was just trying to get some way around the limits he was setting up. Which he would have admitted might have just been him being paranoid, if it weren't for the fact the delivery magically happened the moment Tauriel was leaving on her lunch break. What, had Thranduil been glaring out the window to see if he arrived and then sent Tauriel off?

The fact that he ran into Tauriel at the end of the hall destroyed Bard's hopes that maybe he could drop the files off to her quickly before making his quick escape, or that she could serve as a barrier. He didn't think Tauriel knew of the recent developments, but he also wouldn't put anything past her noticing something was up. Thranduil would have been on his best behaviour if she'd been around.

Thranduil looked so innocent that Bard knew it was a guise. Gritting his teeth, Bard held out the delivery. Thranduil just looked at him.

“My pen is in my office,” he said.

“Maybe you should go get it.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows and then disappeared into his office. And then he did not come out.

“This is childish, Thranduil,” Bard said, stubbornly (childishly) waiting by Tauriel's desk. He checked his phone to see what time it was and made an annoyed noise. There was no answer from inside the office.

Knowing that he didn't have another choice unless he wanted to get written up for not being prompt with his next delivery, he walked into Thranduil's office for the first time. It was a roomy and airy place, with a lot of natural light. There were more plants than he would have expected, though; they crowded the desk and side tables.

Thranduil was sitting on his desk, patiently waiting, holding a pen. Bard headed over to him, and was not surprised when the other man dropped the pen and grabbed at Bard's hips, tugging him close.

He leaned away from the other man, slightly, but he didn't resist the pull.

“Now,” Thranduil said. “How can I fix this?”

“By not being an asshole?”

“That ship has sailed,” the other man said, firmly. “What else?”

“Tell me what the Hell was going through your head when you decided to play fairy godfather.”

Thranduil produced the sort of expression that might have been a pout for anyone else. “I'm not a fairy,” he said. But Bard started to pull away at that, so Thranduil tightened his grip. “I just wanted you to stop working Saturdays,” he said.

Bard blinked. “What?”

“You've been working weekends and it's inconvenient,” he explained. “So I thought I'd nip the problem in the bud.”

Bard was so surprised at that, that when Thranduil pulled him in for a kiss it took him a moment to resist. “Just to be clear,” he said, holding a finger up, “I'm not just someone who can be bought. So if you think using far-flung generosity is going to make me feel indebted to you, you're wrong.”

“I wasn't trying to be generous. I was being selfish,” Thranduil stated. “I wanted more of you to myself. If you're not so worried about what's going on at home, I thought it might free you up a little for... extracurricular activities.”

Oddly enough, that did pacify Bard somewhat. He backed off. “That's what you're going for?” he asked. “You were literally trying to just get my kids out of the way?”

“Well, just two of them,” Thranduil admitted. “And you make it sound so very Italian Mob. So you know, I wasn't trying to bribe you or hold something over you. Nothing like that. I just thought I'd enjoy you more if you weren't so stressed out. And were available on Saturdays.”

“You're unbelievable.”

“I'm believably unbelievable,” Thranduil replied, smugly. “Besides, if you work Saturday the only way I'm able to see you is if I'm in the office, and then Tauriel has to be here and it's this whole thing. I'd rather avoid it.”

“Ridiculous,” Bard sighed.

“Yes,” he breathed. He leaned in for another kiss. This time, Bard let it last. He pushed the other man back against the desk, breathed in the scent of his expensive cologne. He felt those long, slender fingers tangle into his hair and scrape at the back of his neck. It was easy to think back to the last time he'd let Thranduil so near to him.

“I need to get back to work,” he murmured, as the other man's mouth travelled down the column of his throat. “I _really_ need to get back to work,” he repeated, starting to disentangle himself. “ _Please_ sign for that or I'll be late.”

“You drive such a hard bargain,” Thranduil sighed.

On his way out the door, Bard distinctly heard the other man say, “I'll see you on the weekend, then.” He pretended not to hear.


	7. durinsons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fíli and Kíli arrive, prepared to enjoy their summer in the city to the upmost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics used are from 'The Stand', by Mother Mother.

It was a good six hour drive to get to where their uncle lived, but it was always an enjoyable trip. They lived in a university town, filled with students, greenery, cafes; but it didn't have the turmoil of the city, which Kíli at least always looked forward to. The endless people, traffic, lights; it was energizing. “I hope we can play a few shows while we're here,” he mused, looking out the window.

His older brother, Fíli, was drumming his fingertips against the steering wheel in time with the music. “Mmmhmm,” he said. “We'll see how hard we're going to be worked. Hopefully we'll have time to do other things.”

“It's a cafe, how hard could it be?”

“Well, that and with the brewing. Uncle Thorin's going to want help with that too, I'm sure.”

“You mean you're going to beg him to let you shadow him.”

Fíli reached out and cuffed Kíli against the side of the head. “Shut up,” he said, and turned up the music.

 

_(Tell me your weakness)_

_Oh I keep it a secret._

_(Oh come on just one vice)_

_Okay, it's vodka on ice._

_But then there's women on bikes, or just the women who straddle._

_(Oh now you are a handful!)_

_I forgot about handfuls._

 

Kíli leaned back against the leather seat. He and his brother shared the 1968 corvette, which had been driven by both their mother and uncle in their younger days. It was a bit of a family heirloom. He balanced an elbow out the open window and watched the people going by on the sidewalks with interest. “I think it's up ahead,” he noted, watching the street signs.

Fíli pointed. “There,” he said. “That looks like it.”

Just then a rather beefed up scooter slipped in from their blind spot on the right and settled in front of them at the red light. It was clearly a woman, even with a full helmet covering her face; her torso was clean, curving lines. She was dressed entirely in a fitted green suit, but her boots were definitely heavy duty. From what Kíli understood it was not rare in this city for people, even professionals, to use bike, scooter or motorbike to get around. Their winters were so mild they could hardly even be called that.

“Kíli, look,” Fíli said, with a laugh. “It's a woman who straddles.”

She looked over her shoulder at them, as if she heard them, but she was just doing a standard shoulder check before accelerating off. Fíli pressed down on the gas pedal, and they glided up into the nearest parking spot to the Shire.

Bilbo was one of those men who enjoyed people, but also his own privacy. He managed to achieve that with the cafe. During the day it was filled to the brim; but at night he could happily kick everyone out and go about his evening. His relationship with their uncle was something to be admired, given how stubborn and sometimes bull-headed Thorin could be. Still, they matched each other somehow.

Fíli and Kíli didn't visit often, but when they did they always had fun, and Kíli was sure this would be no exception. In the dead days of summer before his next semester at university, the idea of wasting about in the cafe and going out at night was very attractive. He knew Fíli felt the same way, though partially apprenticing at the Lonely Mountain Brewery was also a huge draw.

“Ah, here are the sons of Durin,” Bilbo explained, once they walked in the door. They embraced, and Kíli settled back to look around.

“You've made some changes,” he remarked.

“A few,” Bilbo said, pleased that he had noticed. “Are you ready to waste your summer away in the customer service industry?”

“Am I ever!” Kíli laughed.

“Where's uncle Thorin?” Fíli asked.

“Oh, here and there. He's mostly at the brewery. He told me to entertain you all until dinner tonight. The whole crowd will be convening at Bag End. Of course, if you feel like wandering off until then, I won't tell. I was given orders to keep Kíli under surveillance, especially.”

“My reputation proceeds me,” Kíli said, pleased.

“Your idiocy you mean, not your reputation,” Fíli snorted. “Show us around, Bilbo. Hopefully we'll be able to get the hang of it before the end of the week.”

 

Maybe it was just the cliche of being a university student pouring java, but Kíli genuinely enjoyed the atmosphere in the shop. For every hurried businessman there were at least two pretty girls to smile at him, and that was the kind of math he really cared about.

“Kíli!” Bilbo called. “Come here and say hello to Bard.”

The man that Bilbo was with faintly tickled at Kíli's memory. He was tall and lithe, with unshorn brown hair not unlike Kíli's own, though the other man did a better job at growing facial hair. (Fíli, who had a glorious moustache, never tired of mocking Kíli's failed beard efforts.)

It was Fíli's familiar greeting that jogged Kíli's memory. “Bard, hello,” he said, enthusiastically pumping the other man's hand. “I haven't seen you since- since awhile!”

Since his wife had died, of course. Kíli shook the man's hand as well. “How are the kids?”

“Always growing,” Bard said. “You should see Sigrid – she might be taller than you, now.”

Sigrid, she had been the eldest. Kíli remembered giving her piggy back rides, back in the day. “Not hard to be. Is she still in school?”

“Eleventh grade, this September.”

“I'm trying to convince him to let her work here part time,” Bilbo said.

Bard rubbed the back of his neck. “I'll talk to her about it,” he said. “I'm thinking a job might be good for her.”

Kíli was pretty sure Bard's train of thought was that she would be less likely to run wild during the summer if she had a job; then again, cash in her pocket might influence her to do otherwise. That was usually the case for Kíli himself.

“Yes, do,” Bilbo said. “When are the other two leaving for camp?”

“Wednesday morning.”

“You'll have a quiet summer, then.”

Bard laughed. “Yes, I suppose I will,” he said, before checking his watch. “I need to get going. I'll see you around.”

“Bring her on Thursday, I'll train her then.”

Bard made a face before heading out the door.

“Poor bastard,” Kíli said. “I'm never having kids. I already feel bad for our own mother.”

Fíli punched him in the arm. “Maybe it's just as well you don't procreate,” he said. “You're too much of a jackass.”

“Unfair,” Kíli muttered, rubbing his arm.

 

Bilbo and Thorin did and didn't live together. Their respective businesses had small housing units above where they could stay overnight if they wanted, but they owned a house together as well, which was referred to by all visitors as Bag End. As far as Kíli could tell, that was how two lone and viciously introverted personalities made everything work.

Of course, they definitely spent a lot of time at the house together, which was readily noticeable when going in. The fridge and pantry were always generously stocked as a result of the endless appetites of family and friends, and the den and living room had well worn looks to them in the mishmash of Bilbo and Thorin's family heirlooms. The first thing that Kíli did upon arriving was drink a beer, and the second thing he did was lay on the ridiculously comfortable couch until the rest of their relations arrived.

They were all friends of Thorin's, of course; according to Bilbo most of his own relations were impossible to deal with, except of course for his nephew, who would undoubtedly show himself at some point during the summer.

Thorin arrived at six o'clock, giving his nephews warm hugs as soon as he came through the door. As was his habit, that would likely be the most fond he would act for the rest of the summer. “Poor children, wasting away at school,” he said. Unlike his sister, Thorin was a high school dropout, but that had done little to deter him from achieving what he had wanted out of life.

“The beer is tasting great, uncle,” Kíli said, holding up his can.

“The summer brew was just released,” Thorin replied, already heading towards the backyard to tend to the barbecue. “Raspberry. Tell me what you think of it.”

Dwalin and Balin were there already, sitting outside on deck chairs with their own drinks in hand. Bofur and Bombur showed up soon after Thorin, yelling happily and embracing the young Durinsons. At these gatherings Kíli and Fíli were always the youngest, but besides being saddled with the job of fetching beer for everyone there was never any sense that they were out of the loop. It had been that way since they were in middle school.

Back in their mother's house, it was easy to forget the lazy ways of men. Kíli was prepared to remind and engage himself in those mannerisms, too, except for perhaps whenever he might have to bow to Bilbo's exacting measures (tea towels always clean, toilets always flushed, and et cetera). It would be interesting to stay with him; the last time he had visited, Bilbo and Thorin had still had separate houses, and Kíli and Fíli had stayed with their uncle.

“It'll be an interesting summer,” Fíli said, echoing his brother's thoughts. He nudged his shoulder against Kíli's. Now that they had answered all the usual questions (Are you in the same major? How did exams go? How many years do you have left? Any girlfriends? Boyfriends? Both?) they were left with a moment to themselves.

“Better than it would have been back home, I hope,” Kíli laughed.

“The girls are prettier.”

“You noticed too?”

“Oh,” Fíli said, with a smirk. “I noticed.”


	8. friends and favours

Tauriel stifled a yawn. Legolas had kept her up the night before, insisting that they watch 'just one more' episode of _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_. It had been incredibly hard to say no. (Rosa and Holt were her favourites). She'd been up so late she'd been forced to skip her usual routine of taking the bus and had driven to work. Helmet tucked under her elbow, she greeted Natalie, the front receptionist, before wandering in the direction of her own desk.

While she didn't have her own office, technically, the room at the end of the hallway functioned as her own area where she had a large amount of privacy. She sat down at her desk and dug her heels out of her messenger bag, pulling off her boots and slipping the slingbacks on instead.

She arrived a minute before Thranduil did. Naturally, he looked impeccable. “Late night?” he asked. She sighed. Even if she'd bothered with concealer for under her eyes, he would have noticed anyway.

“It's technically your fault,” she said, meaning his son.

He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat and disappeared into his office.

Life at Greenleaf Acquisitions wasn't so bad. Tauriel had a high amount of responsibility, which is what stopped her from getting too bored. While she was sometimes sent on small errands, like a nearby coffee run, that only occurred when there wasn't anything more pressing she needed to attend to. She was too important to waste on those sorts of jobs. The one time Tauriel had been unexpectedly sick with food poisoning on a Friday, purportedly the entire office had erupted into chaos. Since then, they'd organized backup plans in case she was unable to come in for a day.

She wasn't sure who had filled the position before she had, but from the way Thranduil spoke of it, there probably hadn't been anyone. Once she'd joined the team, the job had basically been made just for her. If Thranduil was the King, then she was his Captain. As a result she often felt the brunt of Thranduil's bad moods, but it slid off of her while it made one or two of her coworkers lock themselves in the bathroom for a bit of a cry. She tried to remain as a sort of wall between him and the rest of the staff, and it worked most of the time.

Today was the sort of day where Thranduil wasn't in the office much, though. Starting at ten, he had meetings all across town. Thranduil owned several major liquor store chains, two restaurants, and had controlling ownership of one vinyard down south. And that was just the stuff he had personal interest in; he helped handle mergers between large companies, too. Most of it was stuff Tauriel found intensely boring, but she was interested in the businesses Thranduil himself kept a close eye on. Much of it had to do with liquor. Very recently he had begun courting several local craft breweries. Some took it well; others not so much. Regardless, Tauriel had a fridge full of beer at home now and they all tasted weird.

At nine forty-five, Thranduil emerged from his office. “The car should be waiting for you downstairs,” she said. He said nothing, just continued on, and she shrugged.

Tauriel was an incredibly good worker, which meant she accomplished everything she needed to do in very good time, and then had several hours to do whatever the Hell she wanted. She was googling ideas on organizing shoes when the phone rang and it was Bard.

The phone rang often, but very rarely for her. She was prepared to inform whoever it was that Thranduil was out of the office and would not be available until three o'clock, when Bard's familiar voice filled her ear.

“Can you talk?” he asked.

“Yes, the dragon has momentarily left the mountain,” she replied, leaning back in her chair a bit. “How are things going? Are you childless yet?”

“I will be tomorrow. Partially.”

“Poor thing,” she said. “It'll just be you and your hormonal teen all summer.”

“That hormonal teen is actually why I'm calling you,” Bard said, carefully. Tauriel straightened up.

“Everything alright?”

“Oh, everything's fine. I was just wondering if I might... ask you for a favour.”

“What kind of favour?”

Here he paused. “My daughter wants to go to a dance next week...”

“Oh no.”

“... And I was hoping you might chaperone.”

“Is that still a thing?”

“Vaguely,” Bard said. “Mostly I just want to make sure she gets to and from the dance in one piece. Sigrid has made it clear that she would rather drug me and hitchike there in a suspicious white van than let me within one mile of the event. I know because she literally said that to me.”

“Ouch. I guess you don't count as a cool dad.”

“Probably not, but _you_ might count as cool.”

“I don't know. I own a lot of house plants. And I talk to them.”

“Do you have a car?”

Tauriel wound the phone cord around her finger. “I have a scooter.”

“Damn it. Is it cute and pink and tops out at 40 miles?”

“I'm afraid it's the kind of scooter that's been engineered to eat road and spit it out in car's faces.”

“Are you saying 'scooter' instead of 'motorcycle' to make me feel better?”

“Yes, maybe.”

Bard sighed. “I suppose I can't take it back, me asking for that favour.”

“Nope, you can't. But if it makes you nervous, I guess that means I'm officially cool. At this dance, what is your stance on recreational tomfoolery?”

“That's an awkward question.”

“Well, I need to know.”

Bard was silent for a moment. “Alcohol is fine,” he said, carefully. “If it's there. I have no illusions about that or how well teachers can keep an eye on that sort of thing.”

“They are a bit useless.” She knew, because she'd done it herself many a time in her younger days. “What else?”

“Absolutely nothing else.”

“If I bring her home with a few scrapes?”

“She'll live, I'll live.”

“What about a concussion?”

“I will string you outside of my apartment as a warning to all others,” Bard said, firmly.

“Seems fair. How difficult was this conversation for you?”

“Very difficult.”

“Well, I admire you for it,” Tauriel said. “Honestly. How about you let me take her around Saturday and she can decide if I'm a loser or not?”

“She might be working at her new job by then.”

“Where?”

“The Shire.”

“Bard, you're moving on up in the world,” she laughed. “Then I'll visit her at work, then.”

Once Bard had hung up, she turned back to her computer, when the phone rang again.

“Hello, Greenleaf Acquisitions.”

“Tauriel! I got a job as a yoga instructor. I can officially pay rent now.”

“Oh, you've got to be shitting me.”

 

Legolas was not actually a bad roommate. Tauriel didn't have much experience in the realms of roommates, seeing as how she had lived with Legolas and Thranduil and their house through most of college. But she _had_ lived in the dorms for half of her first year of university, and after she graduated shared two apartments with others before she'd moved out on her own. Legolas was the best so far.

It was possibly because they knew each other so well, but also likely the fact that Legolas was just an incredibly competent person, not that he showed it. He carefully kept the same hours she did, never ate her favourite foods without replacing them, and showered (unlike one past roommate). When he cleaned, the place was spotless. He was organized – her fridge had never been so tidy. Tauriel accomplished these things, of course, but she had to put her mind to it; for Legolas it seemed almost like second nature. Was that the result of having been raised by a perfectionist father? Maybe.

Take for example the news that he had managed to get a job as a yoga instructor, based purely on the fact he was interested in it. That was probably what drove Thranduil crazy the most – his son's boundless ease and talent at getting what he wanted, but none of those things were what Thranduil wanted for him.

“Well, congratulations,” Tauriel said from where she sat on the couch, raising her hand to take the bottle of beer Legolas passed to her. They clinked bottles. Over the past few days he had unpacked the rest of her belongings for her, and books lined the walls, crowding with the plants and flowers in full bloom. She also had way more mugs and glasses than she had thought she'd had. “When do you start?”

“Officially next week, that's when I get my own classes.”

“How long have you been doing yoga?”

“Oh, years. I had no idea how easy it was to get certified.”

“You're going to have a huge amount of women staring at your junk, now,” Tauriel said. “I mean, even more than usual. Are you going to wear the weird yoga pants?”

“You know it.”

“Your dad will be thrilled. How long are you going to keep up your fight with him?”

“Do you want me to move out?”

“No! Of course not,” she said. “I just mean that, it makes me sad when you two don't get along.”

Legolas frowned. “Oh, don't use that against me,” he said. “Sad Tauriel. The worst kind of Tauriel. She haunts my dreams.”

“Well, it's true. I don't like it.”

“I'll call him later,” he assured her. “It's not a fight. Just... keeping my distance. He always forgets that I'm grateful he supports me but I don't demand it, so when he cuts me off it's this huge, ridiculous thing until he remembers I am actually capable of taking care of myself.”

“I think that makes him angrier.”

“Oh, probably. But he's usually rational enough that it's alright after a bit.”

Tauriel took a long drink of her beer, then sighed, stretching out on the couch and kicking her feet at him. “Just sort it out,” she said. “I refuse to choose between the two of you during Christmas.”

“Obviously I get you on Christmas Day when the presents are opened. Dad can have you on Christmas Eve. I think that's fair enough custody.”

She snorted. “Go make me dinner,” she whined. Because Legolas was Legolas, he did. It was a kale salad with dried cranberries and poppy seed dressing, and it was delicious.


	9. like the moon across the sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paths converge - almost - at Grey Havens Nite Club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a partial from the lyric "You walked across the dance floor, just like the moon across the sky"  
> from 'Can't Stop Falling' by Great Big Sea

A celebratory drink. Kíli didn't know what they were celebrating, but he'd celebrated six times already and was returning to the bar for a seventh.

The music beat fast and strong all around him, thrumming in his veins. He was lucky, he knew, to live the life he did. He was enrolled in a fine arts program at university; he and his brother played music in any cafe or club that would take them; he was here in this city visiting family and friends. He was in love with and grateful for everything he had, but then he caught a glimpse of her on the dance floor and everything was forgotten.

He didn't even care who she was. It truly didn't matter. He had never seen anyone move like that, aggressive and graceful. Her hair surrounded her face in a diaphanous cloud that picked up every colour of the strobe lights. In moments she was swallowed again by the crowd, but he knew she was there, like the moon momentarily obscured by clouds. Just knowing her existence was good enough for him.

Oh, was he ever drunk.

Fíli was laughing and chatting up a girl by one of the sofas. Kíli decided not to interrupt. The fact that it did not occur to him to search out the woman on the dance floor was oddly unsurprising to him. His family always told him that he was a bit of a dreamer, and that was probably true. That woman was perfect, and pursuing her would not make her any more important, he supposed. Instead, after downing another shot, he thought it might be time to get some air.

He knew it was awful, but he lit up a cigarette once he was outside. Since Fíli would definitely give him a call if he was needed, he felt like now was a good time to take a stroll around the block. This was a few avenues away from the city art district, but some of its influences could be seen in the paintings on the electrical and post boxes, the darkened shop windows showcasing pinup dresses and bowler hats. He hadn't been able to visit an art supply store yet, but he would soon. This city was inspiring him. Even just being in The Shire, which had a familiar, family-like air to it, made him want to curl up by the window and start sketching all the people who went by.

On Thursday, Bard had shown up with his daughter. Sigrid looked so much like her mother now that it was vaguely shocking. Kíli felt old, because the little girl he remembered had been quiet and bookish, slinking around and reading anything she could get her hands on and using words too big for her size. Now she wore long dresses and that unassuming walk had turned into an ethereal sway and glide. Her eyes were still the same, though – big and soulful, intelligent and kind. Kíli had a feeling that he was going to watch her break many hearts over the summer, and perhaps get her own a bit broken along the way.

Under the watchful eye of Bilbo and all of the other employees, of course.

Kíli had never considered the idea of children for himself, but he liked families and he liked seeing them around. There were so few people near his age in his own family; everyone was much older than he and Fíli. It might be nice to play big brother for the summer.

He turned and started wandering back towards the club, figuring he shouldn't stray too far when he didn't know the area quite that well yet. He passed people sleeping on bus benches, friends smoking in small groups, other clubs and pubs and bars and restaurants that were still open and doing business. The city fluttered around him like an excited heartbeat.

Soon, he was back at the club, the one cigarette he had allowed himself long gone.

She was standing outside in line at the hot dog stand across the street, arms crossed, smiling and laughing with the girl ahead of her, kicking a little at the dirt with one pointed toe of her boot. Her hair was frizzing away from her face and she was flushed and sweaty. The streetlights made her look pale and exemplified the bags under her eyes. She was not particularly attractive in that moment, but he was struck by how perfect she was, in every way. His fingers itched to draw her, to try to capture that delicate line of her cheekbone, the expressive turn of her petal lips.

A man was standing at her shoulder, talking to her, though from the angle of her body it was clear she wanted little to do with him. “Guess,” he was oozing. “Guess what I've got in my pocket?”

“Is it nothing?” she asked, pleasantly.

Kíli snorted a laugh upon overhearing that, and for a moment she was looking at him. He wondered what colour her eyes were, because she was too far away to know for certain. What combination of shades could he use, to get the perfect glint? A cautious smile flickered across her face, and it felt like a ray of sunlight was shining upon him.

Suddenly, Fíli was at his shoulder. “Are we off?” he asked.

Kíli looked away and at his brother. “Absolutely,” he said, with a smile. “The road goes ever on.”

“Let's find a quiet place and snag a bite to eat.”

 

“Why don't you like me?” the man whined.

There was never any way to explain it, because reasonable or not, they never listened. How come Tauriel could never go anywhere she pleased, minding her own business, without someone questioning her reason for being there? If she stood at the bar it was an invitation; if she danced alone it was a invitation. If she walked in someone's field of vision, she may as well be holding up a sign asking for people to pay attention to her.

And she didn't understand how men claimed to hate and dislike what 'games' they supposed women to be playing, even though it was obvious that if there _was_ a game then men were happily playing it as well.

Tauriel just liked to go out sometimes, she liked to meet people, she liked to have fun. She was not interested in people that way. And she hated others pushing that on her.

So she wasn't nice about it, but she tried not to be confrontational, either. She'd gotten into too much trouble over that, in her day... “I just don't, I'm a changeable woman.”

“If you don't like me, why are you still here?”

She gave him a look. “I'm in line,” she pointed out.

“Well, so am I.”

The woman in front of her gave her a sympathetic look. Hopefully she wouldn't feel like she had to step in for Tauriel's benefit. The fact it sometimes took a village to get rid of a nuisance was a source of great disdain for her.

“I wasn't telling you to leave,” she said.

“Tauriel! Good, you haven't ordered yet.” It was Legolas. He had a very distinct lipstick smear on his cheek, and it was not her shade. Going out had been entirely his idea, and then she'd only seen him for half the evening. He kept running into people he knew – dad's money had made him very popular once upon a time, before he'd grown tired of socializing and decided to travel. “I'm starving.”

The man who had been bothering Tauriel looked unimpressed. “This your boyfriend?” he asked her, nodding at him.

Legolas, who knew how much Tauriel hated the boyfriend excuse, immediately turned on the man. She closed her eyes. She saw a possible fight brewing. And if there was a fight, she was going to have to get involved.

“Oh, no,” Legolas said, sweetly. “I already have a boyfriend. But I'm willing to dump him...” he sidled a bit closer, “For you...”

This was a standard Legolas act, but it had started more than one fistfight when he pulled it on the wrong hateful assholes. People tended to get hurt in those situations. Not Legolas or Tauriel, of course. But Thranduil was quite clear on how he viewed his rebellious childlings should they ever get on the wrong end of an assault charge.

Thankfully, the act just had Tauriel's harasser making an angry but disgusted noise and stamping off, saying something rather inflammatory which Tauriel, for his benefit, pretended not to hear. The girl in front of her was snickering.

“Works every time,” Legolas said, smugly.

“If by 'work' you mean 'possibly opens us up to a street brawl defending the rights of non-heterosexuals everywhere', then you're correct,” Tauriel said, dryly. “Maybe I should just wear a paper bag over my head.”

“Tauriel, you could look like a sow stamped your face in when you were three, and idiots would still hit on you,” Legolas said. “Though I think you get a lot of attention for your hair. Maybe you should cut it off.”

The expression on his face told her he was joking, but she still flicked him on the arm. “My hair,” she said, primly. “Is staying exactly the way it is.”

They gathered up their cheddar-jalapeno smokies, which were the best in the city, and started to walk home. “It's been so long since I've had one of these,” he sighed. “Remember when we used to sneak out in high school just to get downtown for these?”

“We could have been stabbed, all in the name of processed meat,” Tauriel laughed. She licked a bit of ketchup threatening to spill out of the bun. “I've missed having you around.”

“I plan on sticking around this time, I promise.”

Tauriel gently butted her head against his shoulder, as if she were a wayward kitten. It was a good hour's walk, probably more, to her apartment, but by the time they got home it still didn't feel long enough for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking, Kiliel fans! Well, maybe. You might be wondering: why did I take Kili's line and give it to a stranger?  
> Originally, I was going to keep the line between Kíli and Tauriel, but the more I thought about it the more it didn't seem quite right. Why? Because this is a Modern AU, and I have to put everything through a modern lens. To me, the line works in the movie because it's half a flirt, half a sign of Kíli being rebellious towards his captors. He has every right to make life difficult for the woman sticking him in a cell, but he is so impressed by her beauty and fighting skills he teases her instead. It's meant to be partially hostile, partially playful, and undoubtedly flirtatious. Tauriel recognizes that and it amuses her, and it opens up dialogue between them.  
> In a modern setting, though, it didn't feel right with how I imagined my characterizations. I'm really not a fan of the 'lovable womanizer' trope and I wanted to keep Kíli clear from that. It's difficult for me, Tauriel, and possibly even you (yes, you!) to go out into the world without getting unwanted attention. It's not wandering unknowingly into an orc ambush; it's being targeted by people who assume they have a right over us if they say and do certain things. I decided early on Tauriel would have no patience for that sort of thing, because why should she?  
> So I passed the line off but kept Tauriel's response so that we could still see her sass (important!) but also maintain that sweet, puppydog gentleman archer that we all love. Sorry if that was overkill, but I really wanted to explain myself~


	10. the chaperone

Sigrid was looking forward to her summer. Quite suddenly, she was finding herself with a lot to do. She would miss Bain and Tilda, of course, but she was excited about the prospect of not having to worry about them for a change. She wondered if her dad felt the same way.

When her dad had come home that week and asked her if she would be interested in working at the Shire, she had tried not to be too eager – but Sigrid had never managed to do what all her friends did, which was feign nonchalance over important things once their parents were concerned. Actually, Sigrid didn't really understand that method of getting what she wanted. She and her dad were a team, and even when he frustrated her she tried very hard to understand where he was coming from. Her dad bent over backwards for all of them, and she noticed and appreciated it.

So while at first she had shrugged and said it might be cool, within hours she was telling Bain and Tilda rather excitedly about it, and promising to learn how to bake those exquisite scones their dad sometimes brought home for them.

Of course, soon after that her dad had suggested, if she was sure that she wanted to go to the start of summer dance while he was a mile away, that he pick out someone suitable to make sure she got there and back in one piece. It was a sneaky way of going about it, since she'd been forced to consider it just to be fair to him after he'd gotten her a job. Her dad didn't want her walking, cabbing, or biking there, and her one friend who had her license had already been in a minor fender bender.

And that made sense, it did. She just didn't like the idea of a babysitter.

“Look, she's just going to make sure you get there, stick around nearby in case you need her, and then make sure you get home. Or to one of your friend's houses, if you want to go there,” he added.

“I don't need a babysitter, da.”

“She won't be. She's your ride. And possibly a bodyguard.” He had smoothed his hand over her hair, taming the flyaways she hated so much. “You'll like her. I wouldn't ask someone you wouldn't like.”

“Are you dating her?” she didn't think he was, which is what made it so easy to ask.

He laughed at that. “No,” he said, confirming her thoughts.

“What if I don't like her?”

“You can make up your mind on Saturday, she wanted to come by and meet you. Actually, she wanted to meet all three of you, but she'll have to settle with just you for now.”

So then Saturday came. Her dad was at home, probably enjoying a silent house for the first time since last summer. When she'd asked if she could sleep over at her friend Pen's that night she'd almost felt bad for abandoning him, but he didn't seem to mind. And now Sigrid was an hour into her shift and already enjoying herself immensely.

It helped that she had known Bilbo since she was small. He and her dad weren't the best of friends, but they were very familiar with one another. Actually, her dad was a bit of a loner anyway, so Bilbo was as regular a face as they came. He was an intelligent and cultured man, and only hands on with his regular customers. Otherwise he liked to disappear into the back, baking and preparing food, ordering the best fair trade coffees, and putzing about with inventory.

And then there were Kíli and Fíli. Fíli wasn't going to work there as often – from what she understood he was going to try to spend more time over at the Lonely Mountain Brewery, learning the trade. But Kíli was going to be her regular coworker. She vaguely remembered the both of them from when she was younger, but not completely. They had been boys, and older than her, and she'd been shy. Now, she was more comfortable outside of her shell.

Kíli looked the way Sigrid dreamed all boys ought to look – unshaven, unkempt, with a sort of loose way of walking and talking. Effortlessly cool. But from the start he spoke to her like wasn't-she-the-cutest-thing, not consciously but probably in the back of his mind. She was alright with that. It was just nice to talk to a boy without having to worry about how she might look, how she was presenting herself. He tolerated all of her questions about university, his life elsewhere, his band.

And all of her friends were completely, utterly jealous she got to spend her days within three feet of him, and that was almost the best part.

“So, who's Charlie?” Kíli asked. He was lounging around behind the counter, sketching, while she came up with some empty cups she'd cleared. He just called the sketches his 'studies' and at any moment he was creating life with a pen or pencil.

“He's a guy from school,” she said.

“Did he watch you longingly for months until he asked you out?”

“Do boys do that?”

“Some do.”

There was the growl of some kind of motorbike outside, and Sigrid leaned away from the counter, slightly. She could just see someone parking and pausing to talk to a passerby. She looked away, back to Kíli, who had started to draw her.

“Your eyes are gigantic, Sigrid,” he was telling her, seriously. “It's like you're stealing people's souls just by looking at them.”

“Shut up!”

He smiled at her, then turned his attention over to a customer who had come back up to the counter for another espresso.

Sigrid went to place the dirty dishes in the washer, only to be hailed by Bilbo. “Put these out, won't you,” he asked, handing her a tray of brownies. She nodded and headed back out, just in time to see the woman on the scooter come in.

She was wearing very tight, bright green pants, almost electric – the sort of bright shade Sigrid loved but could never bring herself to put on – and a dark green leather jacket. Her helmet was perched jauntily between elbow and hip. The coppery hair piled on her head was so buoyant, Sigrid wondered how long it really was when it was done.

“Hi,” Sigrid asked. “Can I get you something?”

“Are you Bard's daughter?” she responded, holding out her hand to shake. “My name's Tauriel.”

“How did you know I was his daughter?” she wondered, but she shook the offered hand anyway.

The woman shrugged and smiled. “Just looked for the prettiest sixteen-year-old in here,” she said. And Sigrid had to flat out blush at that, because she'd never had a woman so beautiful tell her that she was pretty before. Where she came from, only close friends and family said that, and she suspected they were lying.

“Can I get a green tea?” she asked, and Sigrid nodded.

“Yeah, of course,” she said, turning and almost bumping right into Kíli. There was an expression on his face that she had never seen before. Admittedly Sigrid had only spent two days with him so far, but she knew a rare look when she saw one.

Tauriel was looking at him, too. For a second, Sigrid wondered if those love-at-first-sight stories were true.

But then Kíli said, “I think I saw you last night. The Grey Havens?”

“I think I remember you,” she said. “Leather clad man in the shadows.” Her tone was teasing.

“I didn't realize until I left how invested I was in your quest to get a hot dog,” Kíli said. But then he saw a customer waving him over and he was gone. Sigrid watched him suspiciously. So far, she'd never seen him not flirt with a pretty customer.

Sigrid went about to making the tea. She was glad Tauriel hadn't asked for a cappuccino, because she was still trying to get a hang of the milk steamer. “Why was Kíli talking about hot dogs?” she asked.

Tauriel raised her eyebrows. “Have you never gotten a Dam Frank before?” she asked, incredulously.

“No?”

“Has your dad kept you under a rock?!” Tauriel shook her head. “I'll make sure you get you one, sometime this summer,” she said. “The lineup can take forever sometimes, especially when everyone's drunk – but it's well worth the wait.”

“Room for milk?”

“Do you have almond?”

Sigrid rummaged around in the fridge, then handed the carton over. “So are you the one my dad met while on the job?” she asked, even though she was well-aware that was who Tauriel was. Her dad didn't have enough names to drop for her to get them confused just yet. Or maybe he did and she just paid very good attention.

“Yeah, he's one of the nicest people I've met while at work,” Tauriel said, pouring the almond milk in. Sigrid took the moment to focus on her face. Was she even wearing makeup? Maybe a bit of lipstick and blush, but that seemed to be about it. “And I'm kind of a loser and don't really hang out with a lot of people on my off hours, so.”

“You and my dad have that in common.”

“He's a loser too?”

“No!”

Tauriel laughed. “Come with me for a second,” she said. When Sigrid hesitated, she smiled. “Trust me, your boss won't get mad; it's only for a moment.”

Sigrid felt she had no choice but to follow her. They left the air-conditioned interior of the Shire and stepped out into the hot sunlight. “This is my bike,” she said, placing her hand on it. “It's a scooter. Technically.” It was black and emerald coloured, with splashes of chrome.

“It's nice.”

“I don't have a car,” Tauriel stated.

It took a moment or two for Sigrid to realize what she was saying. “Oh my God,” she said, feeling a huge grin spreading across her face.

“I just wanted you to know so that when I came to get you, you aren't wearing some tight little number. It's impossible to straddle a bike in one of those unless you want the whole city to get to know you, and then your dad will deck me. So wear a full skirt. We can tuck it in.”

“Oh my God,” Sigrid said again.

“I also wanted to let you know, your dad is actually a very cool man,” Tauriel added. Sigrid couldn't wait to tell Pen and everyone else all about this. “Very, very cool. And very attractive.”

“Hey!”

“Just telling it like it is, Sigrid.”


	11. pillow talk

Bard woke feeling surprisingly well-rested. It was probably because, for the first time in likely a decade, he had slept until noon. It was easy to do so with such a good reason to keep him in bed.

He rolled over. Thranduil's hair caught an almost distressing amount of light from the sun pouring in through the gap in the curtains. It was soft and silky, sliding like water when he touched it; but he vividly remembered winding his fingers around it, how strong and unbreakable it had felt. And when he pulled it a certain way Thranduil practically melted against him.

Bard pressed his face into that hair, and also partially against the strong ridge of the man's right shoulder. Thranduil made a noise that wasn't sleepy, but definitely suggested he'd been drifting somewhere. “Are you awake?” he asked.

“No.”

Bard rubbed his stubble against the other man's shoulder. “Hm, now?”

Thranduil chuckled. “Maybe,” he said.

Bard had had a good day yesterday. He'd spent a large chunk of it alone, which was strange in and of itself. Soon, he knew, he would be missing his children – he did every summer when he managed to send them off. But for now he was enjoying the silence. And at least this summer he would have Sigrid around, at least a bit, to help break the monotony. He wasn't going to count completely on that, though, since he was already sure that she was planning a summer of sleepovers, shopping, work and whatever it was teenage girls wanted to do with their time without school or homework or younger siblings.

That was fine, because he now had a rather nice way of spending his time outside of work, also. Thranduil had been rather insistent that they see each other quite soon, now that he had gone and arranged matters so Saturday shifts would hopefully be a thing of the past. And then when Bard let slip that his daughter was spending the night elsewhere, Thranduil had seemed to take that as an invitation to pull out all the stops. Quite frankly Bard was still unused to being wined and dined so assiduously, but he had to admit – waking up on one of the best mattresses he'd ever slept on, let alone committed other sins on, was something he would definitely be interested in getting used to.

What was surprising but also nice was the fact that, without the pressure of having to be home at a certain time, they'd had more time to enjoy one another's company. And that meant a lot of talking in between everything else. It was that glimpse of the man Bard had seen at the Green Dragon – a smart, thoughtful, entertaining creature. Last night and for the small hours of the morning, Bard had been able to enjoy that too.

He slid one arm around the other man's waist, and Thranduil stretched a bit before pressing back against him, comfortably. That long, silvery hair tickled the side of Bard's neck, but he didn't mind. “Your hair is better than most women's,” he remarked.

“I take care of it.”

“Why?”

Thranduil glanced over his shoulder at Bard. “What do you mean, why?”

“Why do you like having long hair so much?”

“Why do you?”

“My hair is different,” Bard said, patiently. “It's like this because I clearly don't give a damn about it. You, on the other, give many, many damns.” When Thranduil didn't answer, he teased, “Is it because you like when people pull on it?”

“You're hilarious.”

Bard shifted, combing his fingers through the silky strands. Thranduil made a sighing noise, settling against him. “My wife said I always looked my best with long hair,” he finally admitted, with a smile.

“Makes sense.”

“Also, it upsets all the fidgety businessmen who play golf and pinch their secretaries. They don't think men should look like Victoria's Secret models. That's what I heard one of them say once, anyway.”

“Even better.”

Thranduil rolled over so that he was facing Bard and they kissed, long and slow. The air was cool but their bodies were warm to each other's touch. They could have stayed like that for a long time, but then Bard pressed forward, pushing Thranduil back down against the bed so that he could roll on top of him.

“Can I ask you another question?” he asked, nibbling the other man's bottom lip.

“Hm?”

“Did you really get plastic surgery?” his voice was bubbling over with amusement.

Thranduil's eyes flickered open, the complacency he'd been lulled into clearly lost. “Really?” he asked, dryly. “You're asking _that_?”

“I'm really curious!”

“I was joking, before.”

“Oh, no, you definitely weren't.”

Thranduil sighed. Bard nipped at the tip of his nose. “Was it the nose?” he murmured, teasingly. “Did you get a new nose? It must be. There's no way this can be the luck of the genetic lottery.”

“Bard...”

“Or the chin? Ears? Or is it somewhere not on your face? Give me a hint.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “It's on my face,” he admitted, grudgingly. Then, curiously, “So you really can't see it?”

“I cannot. Your doctor must have been amazing.”

“The best that money can buy.”

“Why won't you tell me?” Bard asked, smiling. He leaned in, nuzzling the side of the other man's neck. He could still smell faint traces of his cologne, what was left of it after a night of debauchery. “You know I don't care, right?”

“I know.”

Something in the other man's tone made Bard straighten up to look at him. Propped up on one elbow, he smoothed Thranduil's hair back from his face. “Sorry,” he said, keeping his tone mild so that it wasn't clear he was seriously trying to backtrack, already thinking about changing the subject. “You don't have to tell me.”

“No, I will,” he said. “I don't want you to get the wrong idea. And I'm actually curious if you'll spot it.” And he pointed at his cheek.

Bard was surprised. “Your cheekbones, really?”

“No, not my cheekbones, my cheek. Just the one.” At Bard's puzzled look, he continued. “I was in a rough car crash several years ago, and I didn't escape unscathed. The damage was rather extensive to this side.”

“So it was so bad you wanted to get rid of it, then.”

Thranduil paused, clearly thinking about how he should answer. “It wasn't so much how it looked,” he said, carefully. “I just didn't want to see it every day and remember what I lost. And I didn't want my son to think about it, either. So I had a professional deal with it. If you look very closely you can still see the lines from the scars, but they're mostly healed over now.”

Bard did look closely, tracing a calloused fingertip over the side of the other man's face. If he did look closely he could just scarcely see a fine spiderweb of lines. If anyone were to notice them, they could have been easily mistaken for the wrinkles of a man who was ageing extremely gracefully. “I can barely see them,” he said, softly. But now he knew they were there, he knew _why_ they were there.

“Good.”

Bard kissed Thranduil, again. Firmly, with feeling, almost guilty. He could feel that sensation in the pit of his throat, burning down into his stomach. He almost didn't want to break the kiss, but he knew if he didn't say something, explain himself, he would explode. “I'm sorry,” he breathed, against the other's mouth.

“I know.”

“Do you miss her?”

“More than anything,” Thranduil whispered. He twined his fingers into Bard's tangle of hair and pulled him down for another kiss – rough, demanding, needy and long. They didn't speak much after that, but they didn't have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the big plastic surgery reveal! Was it what you thought it would be?  
> The past couple of chapters have been a bit slow, but the plot should be going a bit quicker now that most of my main players are in place. Thanks for bearing with me! As for character POV, we have Thranduil and Bilbo to look forward to, as well as some Legolas and possibly Thorin. I'm greedy and I want to explore every character >D I have a lot planned for those characters, as well, so stay tuned for that. And of course you're still going to be hearing from the likes of Bard, Tauriel, Kili and Sigrid.  
> A really big thank you to everyone who has kudos'd, subscribed, and commented so far. Each one means the world to me. I love hearing your thoughts and feedback about what's going on, and knowing what you're looking forward to. It's been so long since I've felt like I could tackle a project, especially something like this that I'm unused to writing. The fact that I can do this just for fun, and have people ENJOY it, means the world to me. I know this isn't my best and most artistic work, but I don't care. I'm having fun, and if even one person has fun with me, that's all that matters.  
> Thank you! <3


	12. heartthrob

Kíli was sketching Sigrid. He didn't know why, but he liked to draw her. Thankfully, she seemed more flattered than weirded out. She was a good kid, really smart. Just knowing her made him regard her father with a lot more respect. Which wasn't to say he didn't respect Bard – more that he understood Sigrid was truly a direct response to his parenting, and he had two other kids he was raising the exact same. And from what Kíli understood, they didn't have much more family than each other; Kíli himself felt like he had been raised by a whole village, and couldn't fathom such a contained family life.

Of the few times Bard stopped by to visit his daughter, she had greeted him the same way every time – with a smile bursting across her face. It was unquestionable that, alongside her siblings, her father was probably her favourite person on earth.

So Kíli liked to draw her, because he liked the challenge of trying to capture her rather expressive intelligence. She favoured long, flowing skirts, an almost romantic sense of style that was very grown-up, not that he think she realized it. On his lunch breaks she was completely fine with him watching her every movement. Sometimes the quick swipe of her hands along a table, gathering cups and wiping away crumbs, and the swirl of her skirt became blurs of charcoal in his sketchbook.

He didn't notice Tauriel until she announced herself. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to hover,” she said, at his shoulder. “But you've captured her beautifully.”

Kíli looked up. She stood over him, holding a large mug of what smelled like cinnamon hot chocolate. Her hair was artfully braided into cords, which were braided into even more cords. He smiled.

“Thank you,” he said. She glanced away from him and he realized she wanted to find a place to sit, but the cafe was rather full. “Here, you can sit with me if you want.”

“Oh, thank you.”

He shifted and she settled next to him on the couch. “Are you an artist?” she asked.

“Sort of. Art school.”

“So you're an artist,” she said, simply, with a smile.

One of his coworkers manifested, holding a plate with a freshly grilled sandwich on it, which he set on the low table in front of them. She smiled her thanks. “Lunch break?” Kíli asked.

“Yup,” she said. She slipped off her shoes and pulled her legs up onto the couch, crossing them, wrapping her hands around her hot chocolate. The scent of cinnamon and sugar wafted around her like a drug. “The office only ordered, like, pizza today, and I wasn't in the mood for that or my boss' sushi order. So I've come here for sustenance.”

“Where do you work?”

“Just in that building over there,” she said, nodding in its direction. “The silvery grey one?”

“I've never seen it before!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, it's so hard to miss as it towers toward the sky,” she laughed. It reminded him of the sound of water jostling through a brook.

Sitting next to her, it was hard to believe she was real. With most people, Kíli felt comfortable. He was an artistic soul, his family knew that, but he also suspected they didn't know just how deep that dreamy side of him went.

Usually, in the day to day scheme of things, he was happy and content. People might not fully understand him, but he was fine with that. He showed them the side of himself that was most palatable. It was all workable. Everything was fine.

But she made him feel different. He wasn't sure what it was. He felt drawn to her, energized by her mere existence. He didn't need to flirt, to try to make her laugh, make her smile. He felt like if he was just himself, then that would be good enough, whether she liked him or not. There was nothing more to show, nothing to prove.

It was exhilarating.

Of course, to tell her all of that would probably be a mistake. But that was fine, too. As long as he could be himself.

“So that club I saw you at,” he said. “Do you usually go there?”

“No, not really,” she said, taking a sip from her mug. “I mean, my friend wanted to go out, and I love to dance. So we just went. What about you?”

“It was my first time there. I'm not actually from here.”

“I thought you looked new,” she mused. “Just here for the summer? Some kind of holiday?”

“Bilbo is basically our uncle, so we're giving him a hand while we run amok in the city,” Kíli said. “Myself and my brother Fíli, I mean.”

“Wow, really?” she asked, casting her gaze towards the entrance to the back room, where Bilbo had no doubt retreated to do the numbers, or inventory, or bake, or just take a nap. “I've never met any of Bilbo's family before, so that's cool. All I know is he pampers me to death whenever I come in.”

“There's very few women in our family, so that's probably why,” Kíli said, laughing.

They continued to talk while she ate her lunch and he watched. If she was a little self conscious at first, he was privileged to see it melt away. She even, at Kíli's urging, turned his sketchbook to a new page and began to doodle in it. “Here, this is you,” she said, as she scrawled. “And this... is an elephant. And here is a suitcase with flowers on it.” She was certainly no artist, but it didn't matter; she laughed at her own work, and that was the point. To take joy in it. “You're going away on vacation together.”

“Back to Thailand, where the elephant can roam free?”

“Why Thailand?”

“Well, it looks about the same size as me, and aren't African elephants supposed to be bigger?”

“Hm, I'm not sure. We should google that.”

Tauriel picked up her phone, apparently to do just that, and then grimaced at the time. “I better go,” she said, unfolding her legs. She slipped her shoes back on.

“I'll see you around, then?” Kíli asked.

She stood up and smiled down at him. “Yeah, of course,” she replied. She stepped around the table, then waved to the counter. “Bye, Sigrid,” she said. The girl waved back.

Kíli had noticed that as soon as Tauriel had sat with him, Sigrid had artfully kept her distance. Now as he was gathering his pencils and sketchbook, figuring he ought to start up his shift again, she headed straight for him.

He'd never seen that expression on her face before, and he soon discovered it was because that was the face teenage girls wore when they desperately wanted to gossip about something. The expression boys wore was a lot less subtle and, therefore, a lot easier to notice when it was heading your way.

She didn't waste any time.

“Do you like her?” Sigrid asked him, before stating with finality, “You like her.”

“I don't know,” Kíli said.

Sigrid raised her eyebrows, gathering Tauriel's dishes. For a moment, Kíli hoped she wouldn't be jealous, because while he wasn't arrogant, he knew it would not be too shocking if Sigrid might have started to develop a little crush on him. But looking at her now, he knew that probably wasn't the case. In fact, she looked sort of pleased.

“You like her,” she said again.

Without thinking, Kíli said what he really felt: “I feel... like I had a dream about her, once.”

Instead of looking at him as if she wondered if his brain had fallen out of his ears, she just nodded, solidly, like that made the most sense in the world.

“You don't treat her like anyone else,” she said, briskly. “Boys all treat girls a certain way until they're sure of themselves and what they want.”

“What?”

“You know, like when you flirt even if you don't like someone,” she explained, patiently. “That's just how you figure you need to act. I watch you do it, like, nine times a day.”

Kíli was silent, thinking. Strange how a sixteen year old girl had unravelled his ways, just like that. But then again, he supposed that besides his mother he wasn't used to speaking to women, to being around them unless they were a potential love interest. And nothing like Sigrid.

“It's okay, Kíli,” she said, after a moment. “I think it's sweet that she's different than the others. And I think she must be really nice, too, if my dad is friends with her.”

There it was; the esteem she held of her own father's opinion. Kíli just smiled at her, and shook his head. “Well, whatever it is,” he said. “I like how she makes me feel. And I don't want to ruin that.”

Sigrid sighed, like wasn't this the most painful thing in the world?, and smiled. “You are such a heartthrob,” she said, walking away.

“Am not!”

“You are too!”

When Bard showed up that day to see if Sigrid would be spending the night with one of her friends or if she wanted to go have a father/daughter dinner instead, Sigrid had wrapped her arms around his neck like a drowning victim and fake-begged him if they could go get Vietnamese. Kíli still didn't think he would ever in his life want kids, but if they turned out to be like Sigrid, well, he was starting to understand the appeal a bit better now.


	13. lonely mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Thorin enjoy a business meeting.

Thranduil stepped out of the silver car that had taken him to the brewery, not even looking back as he heard it driving away to park. He headed towards the doors, which were a tinted glass that threw his own reflection back at him – dangerously slim suit, pulled back hair, Hermes sunglasses.

Thorin Oakenshield had been ignoring him for a long time, but had finally consented to a meeting. Thranduil was aware he was walking into the business equivalent of a firing squad, but he didn't care. He knew who he was and what he was; his success after all these years was the fact that, beneath his suit, he was a man of action. As one article in a popular business magazine had once described him, he was someone who 'Got Shit Done'. Businesses trusted him with their mergers, paid dearly for his advice, and begged for his financial support.

Except, of course, for Oakenshield.

In studying the business Thranduil had come to understand that the brewery was growing far too quickly. Growth was good, of course. But when it was too fast to monitor and maintain, that was disaster for a business. And that meant it had vulnerabilities, and Thranduil wanted to take advantage of them – to turn them into strengths, of course.

It had all started when he'd decided to start buying liquor stores. He had considered them to be personal acquisitions for his own use, nothing to do with the business he ran himself. Legolas had been nine when the first store had been acquired, and Thranduil simply figured that the returns on that would easily serve as a sort of college or university fund for his son (of course, Legolas had refused to go to university; interestingly enough Thranduil still ended up using the money when he put Tauriel through business school).

Since that first buy, Thranduil had found it rather addictive. He ended up controlling chains. For fun he investigated a vinyard that was suffering and invested in it; now it was producing wine that sommeliers added to fancy hotel wine lists. And now he was turning his attention to beer.

In this city and the surrounding area, there were an impressive number of craft breweries in operation. Lonely Mountain was becoming one of the best, and for that reason alone Thranduil wanted it. Well, he wanted to be a part of it. Financially.

He had courted a few other breweries, who seemed interested or politely disinterested, but Oakenshield's partners had served very flat, very angry no's. That did nothing to dissuade Thranduil. He got what he wanted, sooner or later.

Thranduil had visited a lot of breweries lately, and in many respects this one was no different. It was clean, spotless, professional; further on, no doubt, the offices would make way for the brewery itself, more industrial but no less efficient. In the corner across from the entryway there was a small bar, presumably with its recent offerings on tap for entrepreneurial bar owners to taste test. There was a man at the front desk who, as soon as Thranduil walked in, picked up the phone and dialled an extension number. They were definitely expecting him.

Seconds later, Thorin Oakenshield appeared. Even in a suit, he looked like the kind of man outdoor magazine editors put on the front page, preferably with the latest hunting rifle in his hands. He had a thick beard immaculately trimmed, and surprisingly his hair was almost as long as Thranduil's – only it was dark, wavy, filled with random braids and expensive beading. Despite the care and pride he seemed to put into his presentation, though, he still came off as uncomfortable in his suit. To anyone else he might have been intimidating, but Thranduil was not someone easily cowed.

“Mr Oakenshield,” Thranduil greeted, extending his hand.

“Thorin.” The handshake was so firm Thranduil felt the twinge of pain as it constricted the ring on his finger. He smirked.

As expected, they were not to take the meeting alone. In Thorin's office there sat two others – one looked to be about their age, but with a shiny bald head that reflected the ceiling. The other was a young man, probably around Tauriel and Legolas' age, who had an impressive golden mustache.

“This is Dwalin, my senior manager. And this is my nephew Fíli.” They exchanged handshakes, all with that swift abruptness that Thranduil failed to hide his amusement at.

There were too many of them to take the meeting at a desk, but there were several low couches and a coffee table. Thranduil settled on one, and Thorin and Dwalin settled across from him. Fíli hovered for a moment, before taking the armchair at Thranduil's right and Thorin's left.

“Thank you for seeing me, Thorin,” Thranduil said, pleasantly. “I'm a fan of your work.”

“Aye, but we're not really a fan of yours, lad,” the one called Dwalin spoke up. He had a thick accent, made thicker with the way he growled out his words.

Thranduil simply kept his gaze, evenly, on Thorin. Thorin didn't flinch.

“I wonder,” Thranduil said, after a moment, “why you agreed to have this meeting if you only planned on turning me away.”

“We haven't said any such thing yet.”

“But I can see it, clear as day,” he replied, lightly. He looked aside at the one named Fíli. As expected, the younger man was not quite so skilled at hiding his true feelings, and he was looking at Thranduil with, while not hostility, obviously some disdain.

“We are simply suspicious of your offer,” Thorin responded, unperturbed by the accusation. “Why us, why now?”

“I have an interest in your work.”

“Such as?”

“The industry,” Thranduil said, easily. “I enjoy it. Having no talent in such pursuits on my own, I take pleasure in lending a hand to those more gifted than I.”

“We are doing quite well without you, and we shall continue to do so. I fail to see how this would be a beneficial partnership for us.”

Thranduil raised one shoulder in a slow, graceful shrug. “You _are_ doing well,” he admitted. “Very well. But on investigation of your numbers, I wonder if perhaps you've bitten off more than you can chew.” Dwalin's hackles clearly rose, but he continued, unbothered. “It's a common enough occurrence with successful businesses. But what is also common is running out of steam.”

“And you think we will?” Thorin sounded unimpressed.

“I think it's possible.” Thranduil leaned forward, slightly. “I offer you my help.”

“I'm listening.”

“I am happy to finance the expansion you need, as well as bear fifty percent of the risk associated with it,” he explained. “The more money you have to move through the organization, the more you can invest in sounder machinery, and a more efficient factory floor.”

“You saying we aren't efficient?” Dwalin snapped. Thranduil looked at him.

“You can always be _more_ efficient,” he said. “That's the cornerstone of strategic management.”

“We may not have gone to some fancy college like you, but we damn well know how to run our factory,” Dwalin growled. Thorin put his hand on his manager's shoulder, and Dwalin calmed down – vocally. He was still looking at Thranduil like he wanted to kill him.

“Sinking more money into the factory is not something I consider foolishly,” Thorin stated.

“I wouldn't call it foolish.”

“But even moreso, I don't appreciate just anyone coming in here and telling me what to do in order to succeed in my business,” he said, firmly. “I built this brewery from the ground up. I know what I'm doing.”

Thranduil tipped his head to the side. Even though Thorin appeared outwardly calm, the hostility was brewing under the surface, a deadly undercurrent in a swift river. A smile twitched on Thranduil's face. “I think you're offended because what I am suggesting is exactly what you plan to do.”

“Don't presume to know me, Greenleaf.”

“And don't presume to know me, _Thorin_ ,” Thranduil replied. He got to his feet, elegantly straightening out his suit. “You need the money,” he said. “The demand for your product is overwhelming the supply, and right now you don't have enough cash flow to reinvest into the brewery itself. That means taking out a loan – and I know very well you're on your fourth one. That means using personal money, and that always spells disaster.”

Thorin got to his feet, less gracefully but much more aggressively. “Do not speak to me in my own office in such a way,” he growled. “This brewery is mine, and you won't have it.”

“I will,” Thranduil said. “Not many others in this city have the capital you need, and those that do are unlikely to invest if it will risk a relationship with me. A year, five years, and we will be partners. I'm patient. I can wait.”

He looked over his shoulder at Fíli. “I hope you learned something,” he said, gravely. As he left the office, he heard a very clear 'what an asshole!' delivered in his direction through the closed door.

 

“Straight back to the office, sir?”

“Yes.”

He felt frustrated, mildly. It was fixable, though. He could call Bard... but he found he had a hard time accomplishing that, lately. The other man had rattled him. Was it because they both knew what it was like to love, and then lose? Of all the men and women Thranduil had taken to his bed since he had lost his wife, Bard was the first to share the same experiences. A single heart cloven in two, and children who looked to him for answers.

He knew that Bard had noticed, too. Thranduil had been somewhat subdued when they'd said their goodbyes, but naturally there had been no time to press the matter further. Thranduil had only screened one call from Bard; since then it was easy to let his busy schedule take over and make things difficult. It hadn't been very long, just a couple of days, but Thranduil knew it was nearing the time for him to strive to make contact.

He just didn't want to.

Well, he did.

He sighed and rubbed at his temple, then checked the side pocket on the car door. Yes, there was the Tylenol and the bottled water.

When he arrived back, Tauriel was sitting at her desk at the end of the hall, on her phone. Not the desk phone, her cell phone. “Put it away, Tauriel,” he snapped. She looked up, startled, and obediently set it down. He stalked by her and went into his office.

He was in there for a minute, staring out the window, when she came in. When she didn't say anything, he turned to see what she was doing and saw that she was carefully pouring him two fingers of scotch at the small bar in the corner.

“Not now,” he said.

“I think you want it,” she replied, walking up to him. He looked at her and, when she didn't budge, took the glass. She was correct, of course. Sipping it, he looked back out the window.

“I suppose it didn't go well.”

“It did not.”

“Well,” she said. “I guess if it always went well, then people wouldn't find you nearly so impressive. What's the point if everything is easy?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her but she was already walking out of the office, closing the door behind her. Since she was gone and she – or anyone else for that matter – couldn't see, he looked down at his glass of scotch and smiled.

Well, he supposed, now was probably time to call Bard. It's not like the Lonely Mountain was going to keep him busy now.


	14. bag end

“That pompous asshole!”

The shout, and the slamming of the back door following it, let Bilbo know that Thorin was home. He put down the cucumber he was chopping for a salad and headed towards the living room. Sure enough, there was Thorin, muttering as he took off his suit jacket.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said. But his partner ignored him, loosening his tie in sharp, aggravated movements. “I'll get you a beer,” he said, dryly.

He was used to Thorin not being in the best of moods, sometimes. It was something they both knew and understood about him. He had a habit for being anxious or depressed sometimes, too; the weight of the world often fell heavily on his shoulders. But that was fine with Bilbo. He found that with time he could soothe away stress, make the dark thoughts vanish. He was always happy to help Thorin in that way – and it happened much more rarely, these days, since they had decided to be together, as partners, friends and lovers.

But, besides that, he was still a grumpy bastard.

By the time he came back with the beer, Thorin had calmed down somewhat. “Thank you,” he said, kissing Bilbo gently, apologetically on the mouth, before taking the can from him.

“You just get yourself so worked up on the drive home,” Bilbo pointed out. He drifted away, back in the direction of the kitchen. “Come help with dinner and tell me all about it.”

Dinner was usually badly organized between the two of them. Sometimes, one of them had something planned; at other times it was whoever came home first. When neither of those options worked out, takeout happened. They were subconsciously attempting to be more regular, though, now that Thorin's nephews were with them for the summer.

In short order, while they prepped salad and then skewered chunks of onion, red pepper and beef onto satay sticks, Thorin told Bilbo all about the meeting he'd had with Thranduil from Greenleaf Acquisitions.

“And then he had the nerve to threaten me on the way out,” he fumed.

Bilbo thoughtfully added onion, pepper, and then beef onto the skewer, all pieces the exact same size in what Thorin called 'OCD Cooking with Bilbo Baggins'. “Well, you did invite him over fully meaning to refuse his offer.”

“Are you taking his side?”

“You know I'm not. Just trying to give you fewer things to be mad about.”

Thorin took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself down. “You're right,” he said. “But that doesn't excuse him talking to me like that in my own office.”

Bilbo washed his hands, patting them dry. He knew what Thorin was actually, really upset about. He carefully rubbed his partner between the shoulders, feeling the knots that had gathered there, obvious even under the fabric of his shirt. Soon Bilbo's backrubs weren't going to be enough, and the man would have to go to an actual masseuse.

“The brewery is going to be fine,” he assured him. “It's too successful not to. If you can't meet demand, you'll just have to limit who you're supplying while you try to recalculate the numbers. Since when has limited edition beer been bad for business?”

“When it's so limited people forget it exists.”

“No one can forget the Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo said, hugging Thorin from behind. “Now, let's get dinner ready before the kids come home.”

“You make us sound so domestic.”

“As long as we aren't domesticated,” Bilbo said. Thorin laughed.

 

Fíli had left the brewery separately from Thorin, to go fetch Kíli from the cafe. It wasn't a long drive; Thorin had just placed the skewers on the barbecue when the boys came in. Noisily.

“Boys!” Bilbo called, warningly. There was no answer, just the continued yelling. Bilbo wandered into the front sitting room, to see Kíli crammed into the corner of the couch, with Fíli sitting on him, looking pleased with himself.

“Siblings,” Bilbo sighed. “So glad I'm an only child.”

“I wish.” Kíli's voice was muffled. Fíli ground back against him, shoving him further into the couch. “Ack!”

“Would you mind setting the table?” Bilbo asked, dryly. “And take your boots off, please.”

“Yes! Sorry Bilbo.”

Bilbo wandered back to the kitchen. It was actually quite refreshing to have the company of the boys; they certainly brought a certain kind of energy with them, wherever they went. Separated, they were a bit different; Fíli became focused and serious, Kíli seemed to drift. But together they crackled with energy, like firecrackers. That was something he noticed with Thorin, too, whenever they went to visit Dís. Siblings in the Oakenshield family were like their own entities together, as if they became a single, separate person.

Bilbo had brought that up with Thorin once, and Thorin had responded to him quite surprisingly – maybe because when Bilbo said it, there might have been an unintentional tone of sadness in his words. “It's the same when I'm with you,” he'd replied. “I like who I become when I'm with you. I like what _we_ become.”

Now, Bilbo saw it in Kíli and Fíli, not with jealousy, but understanding.

They had dinner outside. As much as Thorin and Bilbo teased each other at being domestic, it was a nice feeling, this small family unit that was growing in the larger scheme of their varied family and friends. Deciding to move in together had been a bold move for them, but a good one. Neither Bilbo nor Thorin liked to move fast, and they were also wary of becoming too familiar with each other – they'd both had relationships where their significant other had rubbed against their feelings of independence, had strangled their creativity and critical thinking. That's why they had decided that they would have private rooms set up at their respective businesses, should they feel they needed time to think, be alone, recharge.

And beautifully enough, both of those private rooms were tending to gather dust, and their shared home stayed as welcome and warm as ever.

Of course, nothing pleased Bilbo more. If he was going to be honest, he was the more romantic of the two by a very far cry indeed.

“How was the cafe today?” Bilbo asked. He'd taken the day off, except for going in at five to do most of the baking. As long as the food was stocked, he was confident that his employees would be able to run things – and his phone was always nearby in case of emergencies.

“The usual,” Kíli said. “Except for when Sigrid and I jammed the front till.”

“I'm assuming it's fine now.”

“Yeah, she fixed it.”

“It's a little sad when a sixteen year old girl is more adept than you at machines,” Fíli noted.

“Because she's a girl?”

“No, because she's sixteen. You've got like... five years on her.”

“Seven. Do you seriously not know how old I am?”

“Well, Kíli, you act eleven, so you can forgive your brother for getting confused,” Thorin said, dryly.

“Do you know someone named Tauriel?” Kíli asked, directing the question at Bilbo.

Bilbo set down his fork, picked up his wine glass. “Of course,” he said, with a smile. “She's one of my favourite customers. I assume you've seen her quite often? Goes through brownies and scones at a faster rate than I do, that one.”

Kíli nodded. “Yeah, she's been coming in to ingratiate herself with Sigrid,” he explained. “She's taking her to her dance soon. Sigrid's over the moon because she gets to show up on a scooter like some kind of YA novel antiheroine.”

“Spending time with Sigrid?” Bilbo mused. “Well that makes sense, she's rather fond of Bard.”

“Is she?”

“Well, who isn't? Except maybe this one, here,” Bilbo said, dryly, nodding in Thorin's direction.

Thorin very pointedly speared a cherry tomato on the tip of his knife. “I don't mind Bard,” he said, calmly. “It's just that he's your friend, not mine.”

“You and Dwalin found him 'uppity'.”

“He is.”

“So are you!” Bilbo laughed. Thorin rolled his eyes. “No, Bard's a good man. I only know Tauriel from the cafe, but she seems cut from the same stock. If she's making pains to know Sigrid, I think that would be good for all of them.”

“Don't,” Thorin said, warningly, “ _don't_ play matchmaker. It always blows up in our faces.”

“It doesn't!”

Kíli took a long drink of beer, uncharacteristically silent, but Fíli filled the void his silence created almost immediately. “Bilbo,” he said, nibbling at a charred piece of pepper. “Do you ever do any open mic nights at the Shire?”

Bilbo thoughtfully ran his fingers through his curls. “No, but I've thought about it,” he admitted. “They're just hard to organize when I'm low on staff. I can't really manage to keep the cafe open late except on the weekends.”

“Maybe you could now, now that you've got us?” Fíli suggested.

“Fíli and Kíli just want to play music to an audience,” Thorin said, wryly, but certainly not dismissively. “Don't you, boys?”

“Do you?” Bilbo asked, pleased by the idea.

The tone in his voice had a particularly positive effect. “You mean that would be alright?” Kíli asked, suddenly grinning.

“I've only ever heard you at family barbecues, but I've always liked it. Folk?”

“Bit of folk, bit of rock. We like to go all around.” Fíli said. “We could do, like, a couple of sets, but in between that work behind the counter, let other people perform. I think that would be cool for business. They do that sort of thing back home – all the students show up.”

“It's a fine idea,” Thorin said, generously. “And maybe if you brats have something to do in the evenings, you'll stop skewing our Netflix subscription to keep recommending Jason Statham movies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, finally some Thorin and Bilbo! Sorry it took me so long, I wasn't sure I could do them justice so augh, I tried! I feel like everyone and their mom can write this pairing so well and I was just so ?????? that I had to ask for Bagginshield fic recs so I could do my homework and figure them out, eheheheheheh.


	15. dam frank's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When her night doesn't go as planned, Sigrid ends up having a late-night smokie with Legolas and Tauriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's underage drinking in this, so if that's a problem for you, skip it. Like Bard, I have no illusions about what them kids get up to, so I kept it in.

Sigrid was upset.

 _Don't cry_ , she thought to herself. But tears leaked out of her eyes regardless. When Tauriel roared up, she wanted to be calm, cool. Like nothing was bothering her. Like she wanted to leave the dance early because she felt like it, and nothing more.

And Tauriel did roar up, stopping and leaning on one leg to keep her scooter upright, flipping her visor up. She looked at Sigrid and Sigrid looked back, the tears running out of her eyes. And then, wonderfully, blessedly, Tauriel nodded and flipped the visor back down.

“They will _regret the day_ ,” she said. She held out a gloved hand. “Come on, Sigrid. Let me show you how we roll.”

Clinging to Tauriel's waist, with her long purple dress tucked securely around and under her legs so she didn't give the rest of the city 'a show', they growled down the streets. In the safety of Tauriel's spare helmet, her tears dried and her breathing calmed. The city was soft and smooth all around her. She was a little drunk; she'd had some vodka in the bathroom with Pen, before she'd caught her kissing Charlie. It had given her a strange sort of detachment at the moment it happened, had allowed her to drift away like she didn't care at all.

She and Tauriel swooped around cars and stopped at red lights that glowed like gems with hidden fire. Sigrid turned her head to look at the car next to them. Two women sat in the car, talking, not paying them any attention. Laughing and nudging each other. She was suddenly jealous of them.

 _I hurt_.

Tauriel took them deep into the city. There were buildings she recognized and then, eventually, ones she didn't. The world felt cold and crisp, the air almost more tangible than Tauriel's waist, which she clutched as they drove.

When they came to a stop with more finality than a streetlight required, Sigrid found that the helmet had dried the last of her tears. She took it off, certain it had ruined her hairstyle as it had when she had first gone to the dance; she stood still as Tauriel's quick hands sorted out the barrel curls, fluffed them up into better shape for the second time that evening.

“Let's go,” she said.

They were at some sort of late night cafe. The glass windows were bright with people, the air burned with espresso. “The Shire is going to start staying open later,” she said, automatically, almost emotionlessly. Tauriel smiled at her.

“Oh?” she said, pulling out her phone. “That'll be good. Go grab us a seat, I'll get coffees.”

Soon they were settled on a couch. Sigrid felt supremely out of place in her formal dress, which she had gotten at the thrift store the other day. She liked it, but it certainly wasn't coffee shop attire. Tauriel was beside her, legs pulled up onto the couch, curling up. Her hair was loose and free, so long it was gathering on the couch cushions. Sigrid touched it, suddenly feeling drunk, and was happy Tauriel pretended not to notice.

“Drink your coffee, kiddo,” she said. “We'll have company soon.”

Company arrived in the form of someone Tauriel's age, Sigrid figured. He was tall and lithe but broad-shouldered, and his long hair was the colour of sun-bleached prairie grass. “So you must be Sigrid,” he said, greeting her – to her surprise – with two polite kisses on each cheek, as if they were European. “Wonderful. Would you like a beer, Sigrid?”

“She's sixteen!”

“Oh please, we were getting drunk when we were fourteen and we had a damn good time of it,” he said, dismissively, wandering off. Still, when he came back he was holding one beer, not two. Sigrid was glad – she didn't think she had the nerve to try to drink illegally in an establishment. He'd probably been joking, but she didn't know him enough to be sure.

“This is my friend Legolas,” Tauriel explained. “We were playing in the mud together as soon as we could walk.”

“It was pretty rad, those mud days,” he sighed. She pulled teasingly on his ponytail.

“So what would you like to do, Sigrid?” she asked. “The city, for tonight, is your oyster. We could go dancing. Or we could explore. Or we could head back to mine and play board games.”

“Loser,” Legolas commented.

“You live with me.”

“Yes...”

Sigrid sipped her cappuccino. It was bitter and hot. When she looked down at its surface she saw the heart that the barista had made on it, in the foamed milk. She cast her gaze towards the counter, wondering which barista it had been. Had they done that for Tauriel? Or just because it was something they always did?

Legolas and Tauriel didn't wait for her to answer, though, and she was glad for that. She wanted this, this silence in her own head. Let theirs and the voices of everyone else in the cafe wash over her. She drank her coffee and felt it burn down her throat, warm her up inside.

Watching the other two, looking at their sharp and defined profiles, though, did make her lonely. Penny was her friend. One of her best friends.

“Hey Tauriel,” she said, suddenly. She interrupted them, but when they both turned to her it didn't seem that way – it seemed like she had been part of the conversation all along. Maybe she had been. “Do you think we could get one of those hot dogs you were telling me about?”

“You've never had a Dam Frank before?” Legolas exclaimed.

“No.”

“Oh sweetheart, I didn't realize what dire straits you were in,” he said, levelling an accusatory glance at Tauriel – who nodded solemnly. “I think that will be a fantastic idea. Can you walk in those shoes?”

She glanced down at them. “Yes.”

“Good, because I definitely can't squeeze all three of us on my scooter,” Tauriel said, with a nod.

 

It was a nice walk. Sigrid didn't feel as conspicuous once they were walking down the street, past the bars and clubs and restaurants she knew came alive and existed at this hour but had never been privy to before. She suddenly wished her dad was there, to share this with him – then, quite to her surprise, Tauriel slipped her hand in with hers, and they walked like that for some time. Legolas noticed and smiled, and took Tauriel's other hand, and for awhile they were some sort of weird train of mismatched people wandering along the sidewalk, laughing and skirting around other pedestrians. They made up a sort of game as they walked, avoiding certain stones in the pavement, curling around lampposts. Then, in no time, they were there.

Sigrid hadn't expected – anything, really, but she certainly didn't see what the fuss was about. Dam Franks was just a hot dog stand, roughly trailer-shaped, with a wooden park set up in front of it. Walking up to it there was the takeout window, and then along the other side was a setup of condiments. It looked a bit like a food truck or a live-in trailer, but parked there rather permanently. There were a few picnic tables nearby, all full.

The smell, though, was unbelievably good – then again, maybe she just thought that because she hadn't eaten for hours and hours, too nervous about the dance for it to have actually stayed down. A part of her was glad that she was there, in some strange part of the city, with two people she barely knew but could trust, implicitly, because of their connection to her father. And as much as she loved him, she didn't want her dad to see her like this.

“Do you like spicy?” Legolas asked her. “Great. Because the jalapeno smokies are literally my favourite thing in this whole universe and you need to experience one.”

Sigrid reached for her small, sequined purse, but Tauriel waved her off. “It's my treat,” she said. “I told you I'd get you one.”

They settled in the lineup. It wasn't very long. “This is the best time to get them, before the drunks get kicked out of the bars,” Legolas explained. He tugged on a lock of Tauriel's long, flowing hair. “That's when I usually get them, hey?”

“Sure is.”

Sigrid looked up at Legolas. He was unrealistically handsome, unlike Kili, who looked like he strolled ready-made out of a romantic comedy. Legolas looked like the sort of guy Sigrid saw in cologne advertisements, but he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with at least three holes in it. He glanced down at her and suddenly, she was thinking about how cute Charlie was, the weeks she'd spent agonizing over every text she sent, blushing and covering her eyes at every email just because she had been so overjoyed that he was even speaking to her. And all the while, it had been a game – one of those stupid games boys played, claiming that girls played it too.

Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears. It was stupid, stupid to cry over a boy who she hated. Mercifully, Legolas' expression didn't change, beyond sending her a wink, and taking her hand.

“Let's go sit somewhere,” he said. “Tauriel, order for us, won't you?”

Legolas managed to steer Sigrid halfway down the block and onto a stone bench near a few bronze statues before she seriously started to sniffle. “Have your cry,” he said. “We won't make a big deal about it, though. Everyone cries. It's a sign of emotional intelligence. Atta girl,” he said, patting her on the head as she started to sob. “You've got a long summer ahead.”

Tauriel showed up managing to hold three large smokies in her hands and two bottles of coke clamped under her elbow. “Got rum?” she asked Legolas, as he freed the bottles from her. “Sigrid might like some. But don't tell her father.”

Sigrid tried valiantly to wipe the tears from her face, looking at the smears of makeup on her hands. She was glad they weren't fussing over her – she hated fussing. She watched as Legolas drank some of the coke to make room for the rum he produced from a small flask in his jacket.

They crammed onto the park bench and ate their smokies, which were hot and spicy and just what Sigrid needed, and they watched all of the bar folk walking and stumbling by. Sigrid had a bit of the rum and coke, but also some of the regular coke as well. Was this what it was like to have older siblings? As the eldest, Sigrid had always wondered.

She swallowed the last bite of her smokie. “I can't go to Penny's,” she said, suddenly. Her voice was weirdly hoarse from crying, but still even, and she was proud of that. “Can you call my dad and let him know?”

“Want me to ask if you can stay with us?” Tauriel asked. “You can take the couch.”

Sigrid wasn't sure. On the one hand, she wanted to go home and feel safe; but once she did then the reality of the situation might come crashing down on her, and she didn't want to face her father's concern just yet. Maybe if she stayed out, let her night unravel – maybe it would be easier to avoid and forget.

All Sigrid had wanted out of her summer was a good dose of teenage fun and reality, the kind she'd read about and seen on television. And now it was the end of June, and she'd gotten what she wanted and couldn't backtrack no matter how much she wished she could.

So she just nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, that would be cool.”


	16. restless nights, restful mornings

“You don't have to walk me home.”

“I could do with a bit of exercise.”

“Yes, you're so very flabby and it's not like we walked everywhere _all night_.”

He and Thranduil walked side by side. It was raining, just a bit, but they were mostly safe underneath the umbrella. It was strange to think they hadn't slept yet; Bard had thought those sleepless nights were long behind him. He felt a weariness in his bones, but it was satisfying, a full feeling – not an empty tiredness that dogged his steps.

Thranduil was wearing a very sleek, expensive-looking coat, and Bard was wearing the same leather jacket he wore at the hospital when Tilda was born. They were a mismatched pair, but it didn't seem to matter much. Hadn't mattered at all through the entire night, where they had drifted from one late night spot to another. For the first time the evening hadn't revolved around sex; more a shared sense of adventure. In fact, the only thing that reminded Bard that it was even a date was the fact that Thranduil, without fail, kept footing the bill, regardless of Bard's protests.

“It was a drink, Bard, not your daughter's college tuition,” he would say.

Bard wasn't sure how he felt about any of this. He hadn't been in a relationship since his wife had passed. It had been a lingering illness, which had taken years before it finally overcame her, and so they'd had a lot of room to talk about the eventuality of his life without her. It hadn't been a favourite topic of his, of course, but she had been ruthless about it.

“I never want you to be alone,” she'd said. “There's nothing that makes me sadder, just thinking about it.”

Of course, saying he would move on and actually doing so was another thing entirely. But he had fun with Thranduil, so he tried to tell himself that was the important thing. This wasn't marriage, or even a real relationship. This was just a diversion. There was no telling when Thranduil, in that cool and casual way of his, might carefully dispose of him and make way for another. Bard supposed he was fine with that.

Bard had to get home so that he could get the car, which he so rarely drove but couldn't do without, and he could go get Sigrid from Tauriel's. When Tauriel had called and asked if Sigrid could stay with her, he'd been unsure; but Thranduil had just looked at him like, what's the matter? And Bard had agreed to it.

“She's fine,” he'd said, when Bard had voiced his worry over Sigrid. “She's with Tauriel and, knowing her, my son is already there or will be joining them any minute. Legolas might be a lot of things, but he's as protective as they come.”

“I just meant, if she left the dance early...”

“Think about it this way, Bard,” Thranduil had pointed out. “If Sigrid needed you right now, then Tauriel would have called to ask if she could bring her home. She's sixteen. Something dramatic and sixteen-ish must have just happened. What she needs right now is a dose of distraction from my ridiculous children. You can get her in the morning and see how she's doing then, but in my experience teenagers like a bit of distance at first.”

“Is Tauriel your daughter?”

Thranduil had paused at that. “No,” he admitted, after a moment. “But she and Legolas have been inseparable ever since they were toddlers.”

They went to dinner at one place, then moved to a blues club, then a lounge, then a diner, and on and on. It was a seamless move every time, one of those oddly charmed nights where everything seemed to go the right way. They had both been pleasantly, entertainingly drunk, but during the earlier hours of the morning had stopped to let themselves sober up. Their last stop was coffee from a cafe that had just opened, and why was it that coffee tasted better when it was raining? These were all experiences and moments that Bard had forgotten about, sometime over the past five years. Had he needed his wife around to be aware of these things, or was it that her passing had shut down his senses until someone else had come along?

Their arms were locked together as they walked beside each other, and the faint warmth of Thranduil was a comforting contrast to the chill of the rainy air. Thranduil had shrugged and said he would take a cab home when Bard had asked; if Bard chose to read into that (which, of course, he had no choice but to do so) he would have taken that as a sign that the other man wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. Or else they would have just shared a cab and cut the morning short, right?

They stopped in front of his building and carefully disentangled, as if trying to regain their image of two grown and independent men in slow-motion.

“Goodbye,” Thranduil said.

“Goodbye,” Bard replied.

Thranduil smiled, faintly. He then leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Bard's mouth. It was a really good kiss, in fact; sweeter and deeper than any shared so far. Why? Because it was raining? Because the night still lingered fresh in his memory? Because the mere brush of Thranduil's lips made his heart do something... strange?

Thranduil didn't say anything more, just kept that vague smile on his face before turning and heading down the sidewalk. Bard turned away, pulling up the hood of his sweater to protect himself from the rain during the walk to the car, and tried to shake off the remnants of the night.

 

It was raining. A beautiful, fresh, lively rain. Tauriel loved it, loved to breathe in the scent of it. It always made her feel alive.

She and Legolas had slept on the bed, or rather, Tauriel slept and Legolas did that strange thing where he appeared to be enacting all the parts of a broadway musical in his sleep, rolling on top of her and sometimes muttering nonsensical lines of dialogue. What was weirder was the fact that she'd learned to more or less sleep through most of that over the years, only waking up when he managed to put an elbow in her side.

But sometime around six in the morning she'd heard it, that loud dripping noise of the drain outside of her open window. She'd left it slightly ajar and the sound and smell had filled her room. She couldn't get back to sleep, and so she had carefully untangled herself from the blankets and, as silently as she could, tiptoed to the kitchen and made a very quiet cup of tea, not wanting to wake Sigrid on the couch. She felt hung over, but only slightly; mostly she'd drunk wine last night once they'd gotten home, and it tended to leave her feeling groggy if she had more than a glass.

She checked her phone and smiled when she saw a text from Kíli.

She'd given him her number sometime in the past week, and she had to admit she had a lot of fun talking to him. The conversation was always rather random, small complaints and oddball thoughts that occurred to each of them. Sometimes he texted her pictures of latte art he was particularly proud of making, or a sketch he'd done. She generally sent him pictures of her dinner, before and after she destroyed it.

She opened up her messages to read the text. _You free tomorrow night?_ it said. _Open mic night at the Shire_.

It had been sent sometime around eleven last night, when she'd been busy with Sigrid. She supposed she ought to wait a bit before texting him back, since six thirty on a Sunday morning was a little inconvenient.

She heard Legolas' phone go off and the angry noise he made trying to find it on the side table. Sometime last night when Tauriel had gone to pour herself more wine, she'd heard Legolas and Sigrid's tones change. “I lost my mom too,” she'd heard him say. “It's awful. But she lives through you, and that's how you know you can get through anything.”

“Daaaaad, whaaaaat?” she heard Legolas whining from the bedroom, rather distanced from the mature and solemn man she knew he could be. She shook her head, getting up and walking over to shut the bedroom door, but it was too late; Sigrid was already stirring. “What? Fine, fine! Fiiiine.”

“Want some breakfast?” she asked Sigrid. The girl mumbled and rolled about in the blankets, half buried in the back of the couch. Tauriel figured that was probably a 'yes, but later' so she simply refilled the kettle and set it to boil again, as well as turned on the coffeemaker.

She set some of her clothes on the coffee table for Sigrid to pick through, figuring she would want to change out of the gown (she had fallen asleep on the couch before they were able to lend her something to sleep in) and then started on breakfast. She wasn't sure what anyone wanted, so she went for a combination of chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, and eggs. When her phone buzzed she saw that it was Bard, texting to see what would be a good time to pick up Sigrid, and she texted back inviting him over for breakfast.

Her apartment came awake slowly. It was probably the smell of bacon that got Legolas up, rolling out of bed with his hair in a messy ponytail and wearing one of her oversized pairs of university sweatpants, which were only slightly less oversized on him. Sigrid got up and got changed, emerging from the bathroom in a dark pair of jeggings and a blue tank top with most of last night's runny mascara wiped off.

Like all good mornings, everything came together nicely, so that was when Bard showed up. Tauriel had the distinct impression that he hadn't slept, not in the way he looked but in the way he acted a little run down. His smile for Sigrid was very much genuine, though. “I hope you had a good night,” he said, gifting her with a hug.

“It got better,” she said.

They all sat down together – four was about the maximum amount of people that could fit Tauriel's table, and it was overflowing with food, coffee, tea, dishes, butter and syrup. Bard seemed incredibly entertained by Legolas, probably because he was so unlike his father. In the obvious ways, anyway.

“I was thinking I could pretend to be Sigrid's boyfriend, at least until she finds someone who doesn't deserve to be punched in the face,” Legolas said, pleasantly. “What do you think?”

“You're a bit old.”

“The age difference is the best part. She'll be a rebel without a cause and a total badass.”

If Bard felt a bit awkward discussing the possibility of his daughter finding a boyfriend, he didn't show it. He was admirably calm, in fact. Tauriel squeezed his wrist under the table and smiled at him, to let him know she noticed.

She picked up her phone, opening up her messages, figuring now was a decent enough hour to send back a text. _Sounds great!_ She wrote.

“No phones at the table, Tauriel,” Legolas said, in a very Thranduil voice. She rolled her eyes, but happily set the phone down anyway. Kíli could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A split POV in this one, which I might end up using more than once in this story. I just really like Bard and Tauriel, can you tell?  
> Also, I've plotted out most of my chapters from here, and right now the entire story is looking to be completed by the time I hit chapter 30. Maybe a little more than that. Yes, I have plans and an end game and all of that! Good times, good times. Thanks for hanging in there with me!


	17. open mic night

She'd invited Legolas, but he'd turned it down. “I have a class tomorrow morning,” he said. “I have to look healthy and well-rested.”

“Not possible,” she'd said.

“What about you? If you look like the cat dragged you in, you might get fired.”

And they had a good laugh at that before Tauriel picked up her purse and headed out.

She wasn't sure what to think of Kíli. Thus far he'd behaved perfectly normal, thanks, though Tauriel was wary. Still, she didn't get the sense that he was trying to play up a certain part of himself, a facet of his personality to attract her – Tauriel had met many guys who had attempted to be her friend in order to date her and, when she turned them down, got very huffy indeed. She did feel like he was hiding something from her, though. Nothing nefarious. Just a secret. And it made her very curious indeed.

She'd never really gone to the Shire so late before, even when she knew it was open. She had other cafes for that. If this was a new thing, though, she was interested. She used to go to open mic nights for half the week when she was in university, just to get out of the house.

When she arrived there was a young woman at the microphone telling a story about going to the park with her brothers. Not wanting to interrupt, she made her way through the tables as smoothly as she could. She didn't recognise any of the employees except for Kíli and his brother, of course, who were behind the counter, though Kíli snuck out as soon as he saw Tauriel settle down in the corner. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she greeted.

“Can I get you anything?”

“I didn't realize you'd be working.”

“It was part of the deal,” Kíli said, with a false grimace. “Fíli and I were going nuts trying to find a place to perform at, so we asked Bilbo, but he needs extra help to keep the place open late on more nights. So here I am.”

“Well if your servitude is mandatory, I'd love a chai tea latte, then. When are you going to play?”

“Soon. Like in a half hour. I hope that's ok?”

“I've given myself a late curfew, it's all good.”

He smiled and hurried away. She watched him. She supposed he was good looking, but Tauriel had always had problems gauging that. Often the men she found attractive immediately she soon resented, so maybe it was a good thing she hadn't been struck by his looks right away. When she watched him now, she did see there was something pleasing to his features. He was not hard to look at.

She was only able to speak to him again because he came and brought her latte, but other than that she just watched him busy himself. The place was actually getting surprisingly crowded, and she found herself sharing a table with two girls who were going to the same university she graduated from. They complained about how shoddy the humanities buildings were until she saw Kíli and Fíli setting up.

They had a ramshackle collection of instruments with them, like a xylophone and cymbals, but Kíli had a classic guitar hanging around his neck and Fíli had, surprisingly, a fiddle. “Hey guys, how's it going?” Fíli asked, his rather impressive moustache trembling against the microphone. “Thanks for coming to our first open mic night. Hopefully if this goes well, we can make this a regular thing.”

“And we're not getting paid for the hours we're putting in right now, so please tip well when we make you a cappuccino,” Kíli added.

“Kíli!”

“Well it's true.”

“It is true,” Fíli admitted. “Anyway, we like to play a bit of folk, a bit of rock, whatever. Let's see what happens.”

Fíli looked at Kíli, who nodded, and Fíli set the fiddle to his chin and ran the bow over the strings.

The song they slipped into was soft. Tauriel didn't know what to expect. She and the girls she was with settled in to listen, and watch. She watched the way Kíli's fingertips flicked over the strings of his guitar, his other hand moving confidently over the frets. But mostly she kept her eyes on his face, on the almost rapturous expression he was wearing, the same as his brother's.

They sang, first, about a boy who found a coin. Then there was a song about a mermaid, an entertaining and rowdy drinking song that had everyone laughing, and another fast-paced song about a girl and the devil. And then they went and sang Bad Romance by Lady Gaga, only with the expert fiddling and classical guitar and Kíli's rather distressed vocals, they managed to turn the song into something else entirely. Tauriel distinctly heard someone to her right say 'I'm in love with Moustache,' presumably meaning Fíli, and she tried not to laugh.

“I think we have time for one more,” Fíli said, checking the clock on the wall. Kíli nodded. All of the joking, shrugging artist was gone; his face was serious, but overjoyed. They seemed to come to some silent agreement and, without any of the jostling and discussion they'd had deciding on the other songs, they began.

The song crept up on them. Kíli and Fíli's voices blended together into a lonesome call, like wind through a canyon.

 

_And if we should die tonight,_

_then we should all die together_

_raise a glass of wine_

_for the last time_

 

Tauriel closed her eyes, and listened. _I see fire_. What a haunting, sad, powerful song, but it didn't make her feel depressed. She felt something else. Caged. She felt restless.

“Tauriel.”

She opened her eyes. Kíli was sitting beside her; the set was done. The girls she was with were looking at her with expressions warring between concern for her and pleasure that the guitarist had come up to them.

“Hi,” she said. She sounded faint even to her ears.

“I think you need some air, Tauriel.”

“No, I-”

“Up,” he said, firmly, taking her hand. She let him help her up, and she did feel a bit dizzy; but mostly she was just confused. “What happened?” he asked.

“I don't know.” Outside, there was still enough light to see by as the days grew longer, but it was cool from the day of rain. She was grateful for the chill, sharp air she breathed into her lungs. “I like that song.”

“Which one?”

“The one about the fire.”

“That's an old song my mom wrote,” Kíli said, with a nod. She realized, belatedly, he was probably trying to talk to her to gauge whether or not she was going to drift again. “You're okay?”

She smiled, trying at least to comfort him. “I'm fine,” she said, and meant it. “I think I'm just tired. I had... a long weekend. And a long week.”

“Then why'd you come out?”

“I wanted to see you.”

It was the worst thing she could have said, or so she thought, because saying those sorts of things gave people the wrong idea. But he just looked at her. “I'd rather you sleep,” he said, firmly. “Are the buses still running? Or I could give you a ride home.”

“I'm fine, really.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “Let's just sit down for a bit?” she asked, and he finally relented, and they went back inside the cafe.

He brought her some peppermint tea and a scone, and set up a little spot for them both near the counter, so he could jump up and help if Fíli became overworked. “Kíli,” she said, picking at the scone. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you keeping a secret from me?”

He considered that, for a moment, and then nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Everyone has secrets. If you want to know one, though, you're going to have to be more specific.”

“Are you keeping a secret from me, about me?”

And when before he had been looking her in the eye, suddenly he cast his gaze away. It was only the briefest of moments, and yet Tauriel got the sensation that he was fearful. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Are you in love with me?”

“I think so?”

She blinked. To give herself something to do, she actually ate part of the scone he insisted she have even though she swore up and down she wasn't hungry. “Oh,” she said. “You mean...?”

“I like to be around you. You make me feel different.”

“So why not ask me out?”

“Because I didn't need to date you to be around you, I figured,” he said, looking down at the table with a self-conscious shrug. “I don't know. I didn't want to ruin whatever this was with... with the shit I usually pull, on women. You're something else. Is that weird?”

“That's really weird,” Tauriel said, then hastened to explain. “I mean... it's a good weird. I like that. So now that I've asked you this, _you're_ not going to be weird?”

“Just the same weird I always am.”

“You're not going to get bitter, or resentful, or jealous? Call me a player, a friendzoner, a two-faced whore?”

“Who called you that?” Kíli asked, suddenly serious. “I will get my entire family to hit him. One after the other.”

“Is that a no?”

“Tauriel, me not telling you how I feel was a play to not get _you_ weirded out, not the other way around,” Kíli explained. “I just hope you're not going to avoid me forever for this. I do genuinely like being around you. Even if you hated me I'd probably just be happy you existed.”

“Why?”

And at that, Kíli shrugged. She suspected he knew the real answer, but she'd certainly prodded him enough for tonight. “I guess I should head home.”

“ _Please_ get some sleep. You're sure you're fine?”

“I swear.”

“Text me when you get home.”

“Augh, fine.”

He smiled at her, then got up, just in time for Fíli to throw a balled up napkin at his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys' set list, in order:  
> 1\. "Boy With a Coin" by Iron and Wine  
> 2\. "The Mermaid" by Great Big Sea  
> 3\. "Devil's Dance Floor" by Flogging Molly  
> 4\. "Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga  
> 5\. "I See Fire" by Ed Sheeran
> 
> I'm also going to say right now if I EVER get Fíli and Kíli's names mixed up in this story, I'm really sorry. I can't avoid doing it regardless of the circumstances, including rather serious ones where I NEED TO KNOW THE DIFFERENCE WOW but still say the wrong name. >.>


	18. elemmírë's

“Can I help you?”

“I'd like to see Mr Greenleaf, please.”

“Reason for your visit?”

“I'm wearing sweatpants in public and I wanted to show him.”

Thranduil rounded the corner just in time to see his receptionist give his son the physical equivalent of an ellipsis. Legolas brightened when he saw him. “Dad!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. He was indeed wearing a pair of sweatpants. In public.

“You didn't even go to that school,” he said, suffering through his son's overdramatic embrace. Legolas was only being like this because he knew, for a fact, that the entire staff of Greenleaf Acquisitions was staring at them. Thranduil was well aware that many of his employees doubted he was human, let alone actually reproduced at some point. There was talk he had created Tauriel in a vat (after adding 'sugar, spice, and everything vice').

“They're Tauriel's.”

“How delightful.”

“And last week, I wore leggings as pants.”

“Could you please alert Tauriel that I require her presence,” he gently enquired to the receptionist over his son's shoulder, since he had yet to let go. She quickly picked up the phone and dialled the connection.

Tauriel's unmistakable tread heralded her arrival just seconds before she came into view. “Stop manhandling your dad,” she scolded. “He has a meeting to go to and he's already three minutes late.”

“Can I come?”

“Children belong in the daycare centre,” Thranduil replied. Legolas huffed but, mercifully, let go, letting his mannerisms go back to what was relatively normal.

“I just wanted to know if you wanted to do dinner later, since we let the last few Sundays slide.”

“Put regular pants on, and I will consider it.”

“I believe Tauriel has already pencilled us in for six o'clock at Elemmírë's,” Legolas said, primly. Tauriel cleared her throat suspiciously.

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “ _Pants_ ,” he added, meaningfully, glaring at the despised sweats, before continuing to head to the elevator.

“Love yooou!” Legolas yodelled.

“Love you too,” Thranduil said with a dismissive wave, not bothering to turn around.

 

He remembered endless conversations he would have with his wife in bed, after a long day and Legolas had been tucked in. They would talk about anything; the topics were limitless. He never had to guard himself around her, be careful of whatever he said. To her, he was an open book.

One of the things they liked to discuss was their dream life, should everything they want work out as planned. Inevitably, talk would turn to their next door neighbours, the Forrests. They travelled, presumably for work – Lorell Forrest was an actress, the sort who made a habit of filming small independent films in the middle of nowhere. She had no talent, but great beauty. Their only child was often left in the care of nannies, but the Forrests were always careful to maintain good standing with the Greenleafs as an extra way of making sure their daughter was looked after.

Thranduil and his wife would curl up together in the darkness of their bedroom and watch the patterns of shadow and light dance across their ceiling. “If only she could be ours,” she would sigh. She never made her distaste for Lorell and her husband a secret, at least not in the privacy of the bedroom. “We could foster her, maybe. Don't you think?”

“I think she and Legolas would be good siblings.”

“They are already. She's so pretty and sweet. We've always wanted a daughter, right?”

“You don't want to try the pregnancy lottery again?”

“Ha! No.”

“She's practically ours already.”

“But we could make it official.”

“For that to happen her parents would need to stop pretending to want her.”

And she would kiss the arches of his eyebrows, and say: “Sometimes we need a tragedy to have the opportunity to build something good.”

After the crash, Thranduil couldn't bring himself to sleep in that bed for a long time. He would stay in the living room and sleep on the couch. But if Legolas woke up in the middle of the night after a nightmare he had no one to crawl into bed with; so in the darkness he would creep down the stairs and find Thranduil, and Thranduil would let him squeeze onto the couch with him. All Thranduil could think about were long, dark nights, stretching endlessly out for the rest of his life.

Work was torment for him, and school was just as difficult for his son. So Thranduil would work from home while he recuperated, physically and mentally, and paid for tutors to school Legolas. They would at least get him to the next grade, and then maybe he would be ready for people again.

But because children were children and so little changed between them, Tauriel would still come over and she and Legolas would play in the backyard. They were obsessed with braiding each other's hair and climbing the big tree in the back. They named every ladybug they found and made up complicated backstories for them. Sometimes they fell asleep in the shade when the sun got too hot, and Thranduil would stand at the window, fingertips brushing his bandaged face, and watch them doze.

 _If only she could be ours_ , he could hear his wife say, clear as day.

It was so painful, now. Tauriel would not belong to them, never, not in the way he and his wife would dream about when the day was done and the sun was down. But it wouldn't matter, because in those days after the funeral he decided that the Greenleafs belonged to Tauriel, even though he was careful never to let her know about it.

 

His wife was on his mind lately, if only because Bard had brought her up, albeit accidentally. It had been years since he'd lived at that house where they dreamed about a future with a red-headed daughter, but she was still present in many ways. Legolas and, yes, even Tauriel, seemed to serve as living reminders.

He was sitting, now, at a table with one son and one almost-daughter. Though on the outside Legolas surprising him at work had been childish, he understood the gesture for what it was. _Let's break the ice. Let's talk_ _face-to-face_ _again,_ _not those stupid calls_ _. I'm sorry. Can you be sorry too?_ Yes, Thranduil decided, he could. He could hold a grudge with anyone except, understandably, his own flesh and blood.

There was something relieved in the way Tauriel spoke to the both of them as they all sat together. He knew it wasn't fair that she always be caught in the crossfire, and was glad she was at least finding some respite. In any case, he was more interested in hearing what they had to say about Bard's daughter. And about Bard, of course.

He didn't know why he thought about it, but he decided his wife would have liked Bard. And it would comfort him to know Tauriel and Legolas did, too. But thankfully, there appeared to be no issue on that front. Mostly he wondered what Bard thought of his son – he'd have to ask him later.

“Were we that smart at sixteen?” Legolas asked.

“ _I_ was,” Tauriel said, neatly spearing two penne noodles on her fork. “You weren't.”

“You're quite the babysitter, Tauriel,” Thranduil said. That was a moment for him to suggest that she had honed her skills on Legolas, but he decided that perhaps it wouldn't come out as the gentle tease he meant it to be, and he'd rather not start everything all over again. Especially not in a public restaurant. “Perhaps you've missed your real calling in life.”

Of course, Legolas just raised an eyebrow. “I'm pretty sure she's babysitting _the both of us right now_ ,” he said. “And me at home and _definitely_ you at work, Sir Three-Minutes-Late. Please, let's not pretend to be shocked by all of this.”

“It wasn't babysitting,” Tauriel said, delicately. “I was a _chaperone_. That's what they're calling it at the schools these days. Responsible adults-”

“Adulting responsibly?” Legolas suggested.

“More or less.”

“Is Bard's daughter a lot like him?” Thranduil asked.

“She's younger,” Tauriel said, pensively. He just raised an eyebrow.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she expects more out of the world,” Tauriel said, before adding, “as she should. Bard, though, he's got a chip on his shoulder. For good reason, I suppose.”

“Nice guy, though,” Legolas chimed in.

Just then, Tauriel's phone rang, and she fished it out of her purse. “Oh,” she said, sounding like she'd just changed her mind about something. “I- excuse me, I have to take this.”

“We know it's not about work,” Legolas warned. “The boss is right here.” She rolled her eyes and got up from the table, because that was the rule. “Someone's into her,” he informed Thranduil, quite flippantly.

“Oh?”

“And she doesn't appear to think he's a complete idiot, so there is that.”

Thranduil watched Tauriel hovering conspicuously near a potted plant, avoiding the waiters going by with trays. She was smiling and laughing. He knew she wouldn't take longer than a minute to talk, but he already felt... what was it?

“You know, Bard lost his wife, too.”

And just like that, his attention snapped back to his son.

“Yes?” he said, mildly. Legolas took a sip of wine, and nodded.

“I was talking to Sigrid about it,” he said. “I dunno. I think she was sad she didn't have a mom to talk to, when it came to boys being losers and friends being treacherous. But I told her, you know. If she was ever sad about some stuff she could talk to me about it.”

“Does she talk to her father?” And this was when Thranduil wondered if his son shared the same habits he did – trying to talk about one thing, but really discussing another.

“I think so.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to say something, but had nothing – and just as well, because that was when Tauriel returned. “Sorry,” she apologized, turning the ringer of her phone off and tucking it back into her purse.

Just then, he very much wished things were as they had been five years ago. That they all lived in the same house together; that Thranduil didn't live alone in a large house his wife had once talked about them having, with high ceilings and cloudless-blue-sky kitchen tiles. But at least Legolas' wandering spirit had brought him home to them again, and he and Tauriel were taking care of one another, as they ought to.

Both of them imbibed too much of the expensive wine that Thranduil paid for, so he drove them home rather than release them on public transit, where they would no doubt cause a scene. “Back into your shoebox, then,” he said, as they bid goodbye on the sidewalk. “No calling in sick tomorrow, Tauriel.”

“Weh,” she said, before going up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and hug him goodnight, as she did when she drank a little too much.

While she was occupied with the door, having some trouble with the keys, Legolas hugged Thranduil firmly, much more sincerely than the ridiculous scene he'd staged at the office. “Let me know when, and we'll go visit mom,” he said.

He watched the both of them enter the building, then looked up and waited patiently. The light in their window came on. Then, even at that height, he could clearly hear a crash and a yell.

Thranduil shook his head as he got back into his car. “Idiots,” he said to himself, fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Thranduil. All the Thranduil. No-phones-at-the-table Thranduil. Yes.  
> But anyway, I was glad I finally had the opportunity to get this out (I wrote that flashback scene awhile ago, just needed to wait for the proper time to fit it in). Tauriel and Legolas are his precious babbus, he just doesn't like to admit it out loud. And I had a ton of fun writing Legolas in this! As I've mentioned in a few comments, I've modeled him after some of my friends (I'm just as prissy as Thranduil and I have a friend that wears leggings as pants or sweatpants to the grocery store just to annoy me, because I am a jerk who associates with jerks).  
> For the restaurant I wanted a fancy elf name and asked a friend for a few from Silmarillion, and Elemmírë is the one I picked. As you can see, I have a really elegant decision making process for this story, ahem.


	19. donut shrine

Her night had felt very long, even though she'd more or less gone to bed after Thranduil had dropped them off. But on her way to the office she'd managed to get coffee and donuts, and had set the latter up beside her like a shrine. Little did she know how much she would need their soothing, sugary presence.

Thranduil stole one of them from her on his way in. Just like his son, he always gravitated towards the chocolate.

She licked the pudding out of a Boston cream, and pulled up Thranduil's timetable, double checking all of his meetings for the day, and everything that needed to get done. She checked the whole month to reacquaint herself with everything so far. In a few weeks there was the Local Entrepreneurs Gathering, which was a lot stuffier and fancier than it sounded. She sighed. She would definitely have to attend that one. At least there would be an open bar and the food was generally really good at those things.

She noticed three days in the schedule had been flagged and pulled them up. Ah, yes, someone wanted to fly Thranduil out and those were the days she thought would work best.

She picked up the phone and dialled one-handed. “Yes, hello, this is Tauriel from Greenleaf Acquisitions, I was hoping to speak to- okay, great, thanks.” She waited while she was connected.

Very soon, a familiar voice filled her ear. “Hello, Tauriel,” he said, his mellow voice washing over her. “What can I do for you today?”

“I was hoping to confirm a couple of dates with you. Does Elrond still want to fly him out?”

“He certainly does,” Lindir said, mildly. “What were you thinking?”

“He has spaces available from the 7th to the 9th.”

“How about fly in on the 7th, and out on the 8th? I think... yes, there's a first class spot on an eight o'clock flight. He'll be here and settled just in time for a business lunch.”

“Sounds great.”

“So how are you doing?” Lindir asked. “You sound quite cheerful for nine in the morning.”

“I've been having a good couple of days.”

“Glad to hear it!”

Tauriel had to admit, for someone she'd never met, she really did enjoy talking to him. However, movement in the office behind her told her to cut the call short. “I should go,” she said. “But how's your cactus?”

“Thriving!”

“I believed in you,” she said. “Bye, Lindir.”

She hung up just in time; Thranduil emerged. “So you're flying out to Rivendell Studios on the 7th,” she said.

“Good, good.”

She cocked her head to the side, “Everything alright?”

Thranduil hesitated. “No,” he said, after a moment. “I just received a rather... alarming notice.”

“What kind?”

“Why don't you look up the Lonely Mountain on Facebook.”

Social media, that was never a good sign. She gave him a careful look, but he just waited expectantly, so she pulled her browser up on her computer and typed it in the search bar.

Damn.

 

_We at the Lonely Mountain Brewery just want to say how grateful we are for all of your support. And while there are vultures downtown (with green leaves, if you get our meaning) we have no intention in selling out and sacrificing our quality for quantity. It might be a tough year ahead, but we'll keep on at it, so long as you'll keep drinking._

_P.S. keep an eye out for the summer samplers! They'll be rolling out in liquor stores this July!_

 

“That's... not so bad,” Tauriel said, carefully.

“I might have just called them, though,” Thranduil said, idly. She blinked and shook her head.

“No,” she said, slowly.

“Yes.”

“What did you say?”

“Something along the lines of reminding them I own half the liquor stores in the city,” Thranduil said, checking his nails. “I don't expect them to take that lying down, but-”

“Why didn't you pass that by me!”

“You're not the boss, Tauriel. I am.”

“But I can give you perspective!”

“Anyway,” Thranduil said, stealing another donut and wandering back into his office. “We can probably expect them shortly.”

As soon as the door closed behind him she let out a frustrated sound and shoved the rest of her Boston cream in her face.

 

'Shortly' ended up being forty-five minutes, give or take. She heard them practically the moment they exploded onto their floor, able to sense the disruption they caused. Tauriel ignored all calls from reception, knowing it wouldn't do any good; instead she immediately dialled for security. Which was just as well, because by the time she contacted them she could see Thranduil's visitors at the end of her hallway.

“Thanks,” she said, hanging up and then springing to her feet, walking around her desk. “Hi,” she greeted, bubbly and pleasant. “What can I do for you? Have you got an appointment?”

There were two of them, both of them broad and muscled and bristly, though the man in front had a shiny bald head that took up most of her vision. “We're here to talk to Greenleaf,” he growled.

“Fantastic. Name?” she asked, pleasantly. She probably weighed half as much as he did, but she didn't budge a single centimetre even when he came right up to her. She looked him in the eye, still smiling pleasantly, but she couldn't hide the steel in her gaze. Like Hell she would move. Like Hell.

“Out of the way, lass,” he said, in a low voice. “He isn't worth it.”

“Worth what?” she ask, her smile not slipping. “Worth... doing my job?”

“You know what we mean.”

“I know many things,” she said. “I know that there are audio and video recorders in two places in this area alone. I know security is on its way. I know you don't have an appointment. I know I'm insured for physical harm which may occur to me on the job and my boss knows the best lawyers in the city. And I know all of the places to strike at close range if you even think of laying a hand on me, because while you might have grown up the biggest on the block, I had to pay a professional teach me how to handle myself. Now, perhaps I could help you schedule an interview with Mr Greenleaf, and then show you the way out?”

“Dwalin.” That was the other one – Thorin Oakenshield himself. He regarded her coolly, but not disrespectfully. “Give the lady a break. It's not her we're angry with.”

“She's got a problem with respect!”

“You threatened her. I'd expect any assistant of mine to react the same, should someone come barging into the brewery. Stand down, why don't you, we're professionals.”

With a begrudging nod, Dwalin stepped aside. Suddenly, Tauriel was facing down Thorin. He had viciously piercing eyes, and a handsome – somewhat familiar? – face. “You'll have to excuse him,” he said, of Dwalin. “He's partial to a good brawl.”

“This isn't a pub.”

“No, it isn't,” Thorin allowed. “Now. Go fetch your boss.”

“I won't. I don't take orders from you.”

“We have a need to speak with him.

“I handle all of Mr Greenleaf's appointments, and you haven't made one.”

“It's quite alright, Tauriel.”

That was Thranduil, slipping silently out of his office, appearing entirely unperturbed. He made a small motion with his hand. “Why don't you go and let security know their services aren't needed?”

Tauriel hesitated. All three men watched her, curiously; after a moment, she stiffly shook her head.

“Tauriel.”

“I would rather allow security to estimate the situation themselves,” she said, carefully.

Thorin grinned, broadly, his teeth looking very white against his beard. “You've got a good one here, Greenleaf,” he said. “How did you come about her?”

“Luck. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“We don't appreciate the threat you levelled us an hour ago,” Dwalin said. “We'd like an apology for it.”

Thranduil let out a long suffering sigh. “Not to sound horribly droll,” he said. “But quite frankly, you started it – by publicly dragging my name through your mud. 'Green leaves' is not nearly so clever as you might think.”

“That was one of our staff. They're a bit feisty.”

“Doesn't matter. Remove it from your page and I will consider lifting the stocking ban on my stores.”

“Never.”

“You should pick your enemies better,” Thranduil said, coolly, to Thorin. “This is big business. We play by different rules. Either join the game, or satisfy yourselves with being nothing more than a blip on the local market.”

Something flashed in Thorin's eye. “Watch yourself, Greenleaf,” he said, slowly. “I don't take kindly to threats, nor extortion.”

“Nor I.”

Two security guards manifested at the end of the hall. Tauriel kept her eye on them while everyone else continued to speak.

“You may think we might have words later, Greenleaf,” Thorin said, softly. “But we won't. Not at all. You say you play by different rules – but you don't. This is all the same game, and you've simply become used to cheating.”

“Welcome to the world of business.”

Thorin laughed and shook his head. “We'll see.”

“You're the one who started a public feud.”

“We'll see.”

That maintained lack of caring seemed to finally pierce the shell of Thranduil's calm. “You have thirty seconds to decide to leave of your own volition, before the papers get the story of how the maintainers of Lonely Mountain were escorted from my offices via security.”

Dwalin gave Thranduil a cheeky salute, but Thorin simply turned away. Together they strode off down the halls. A tension between Tauriel's shoulder blades that she hadn't realized was there slowly melted away, and she shook her head when one of the security guard gave her a questioning look.

“It's fine,” she told her.

After she'd gone, Tauriel looked to her boss, who frowned at her. “I'd like you to take the day tomorrow,” he said.

She blinked. “What, why?”

“You look awful.”

“I'm fine.”

“You're going to work yourself into an early grave. Stay home tomorrow, or do whatever. Just get rest.”

Remembering the evening a few days ago at the Shire where she'd practically had an out of body experience, she sighed and nodded. “Okay,” she said.

“And next time Tauriel,” he added, “do as I say. Don't argue with me in front of outsiders.”

“But-”

Thranduil had already returned to his office. She took a deep, calming breath.

Power plays and more power plays. She understood it, but would never like it. She didn't care what he told her, also – if such a thing ever happened again, she would play it the exact same way. Only next time, she might lock him in his office first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, no, I don't actually dislike Dwalin. He's awesome in the books and the movies and I swear he's awesome in this story, too. I just got the idea that he's a bit of a firecracker and would, therefore, naturally butt heads with a fiery little elf ;) I just like the idea of him being offended on Thorin's account, much in the same way Tauriel gets offended on Thranduil's account.


	20. night drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is named after 'Night Drive' by Jimmy Eat World

Sigrid was out for the evening by the time Thranduil came by; she'd gone to some movie with Legolas. Whether that was part of their plot to pass him off as a boyfriend (which Bard did not actively disapprove of, but still made him twitchy) or just the fact it was summer and all the damn superhero movies were coming out, he couldn't say.

As to when she was going to be back, well, they'd made an agreement. She'd given him a rather stern glare earlier in the day when he suggested curfew, possibly for both of them, lowering the book she was reading while laying on the couch and giving him an arch look. “Da,” she said. “I'm sixteen. You leave me in charge of Bain and Tilda all the time. I can take care of myself, _by_ myself.”

“I don't like the idea of you at home alone at night.”

“So you'd rather we both be out and about at the same time?” she'd laughed.

“You're being cruel to your father again.”

“Am I?” She snickered, but relented once she seemed to realize how off that sounded. “I'm sorry. What's this really about?”

Bard had paused. He hadn't thought it was about anything, really, but the moment she asked he'd thought about it automatically and, yes – found that there was something, indeed. He rounded the end of the couch to sit down, and she obediently pulled her feet up and put the book down. “Da?” she asked, uncertainly.

“This is going to sound stupid,” he said, putting his hand on her ankle. “But I feel like... I feel like if I give you too much freedom, too much trust, that means I'm being a bad parent. Is that horrible?” He looked at her, expectantly.

Sigrid smiled the kind of sweet little smile that had melted his heart ever since he brought her home from the hospital. “It's not horrible,” she said. “I get it.”

“You do?”

“Kind of. But you don't have to worry, da. I'm not going to run off and get pregnant, or join the circus, or start a drug habit.”

“I know, I know. But I feel like if I trust you too much, that's bordering on neglect.”

“Whether you hover over me or not, it won't change things,” she said. “I have a phone. If I ever need you, I'll call. I know you want to go out as often as I do.”

“Do I?”

“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes and raising her book again. “I can tell. And I get it. You're chained to this place the entire year, _I know_ , and yeah maybe instead of doing the same thing you do normally you could I don't know go get a life and maintain it? Just a suggestion.”

“You are so unbelievably cruel,” Bard sighed.

“Yup. I'm going to a movie tonight, though.”

“I still need you to ask for permission for my own peace of mind.”

“Can I go to a movie tonight?”

“Of course. And I still want a curfew.”

She sighed. “Really?” she asked. He nodded.

“Two,” he said. She raised her eyebrows.

“Really? In the morning?”

“Yes.”

“For both of us?”

“No, just you. But in exchange if _I_ go out all night, I am going to trust you to get home at a safe and reasonable hour, and to let me know when you do. Deal?”

She sat up, holding out her hand to shake. “Deal.”

He shook it. “Oh, and sweetheart?” he asked. “If I get even a hint of misbehaviour, bad attitude or disrespect, I will still completely and utterly ground you. I don't expect it to happen, but I'm just saying.”

“Dictator,” she muttered, but smiled a little when he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

 

The house had been empty for a good hour before Bard had picked up the phone and pulled up his list of contacts. “I'm bored,” he said.

“I'll come over.”

When the apartment buzzer had gone off, he made sure everything was turned off and locked before heading down the stairs. Thranduil was waiting for him, and Bard stopped to kiss him, pressing close and not caring if any of the neighbours saw. No one spoke to each other, anyway, so it wasn't like news ever spread. It wasn't that kind of neighbourhood.

Of course, after that was when he saw the car. “That's yours, isn't it,” he said, staring at the gleaming silver vehicle at the curb. It was all low, smooth lines, the kind of car that looked like it was moving somewhere fast even when it was parked.

“Yes,” Thranduil said.

Bard strode past him, walking up to it. “This isn't the car you were driving last time.”

“I have two,” he said. “This is the one I drive when I feel like showing off.”

“Oh, yes?” Bard laughed. “Am I even allowed to touch it?”

“Of course. But if you feel like taking off your shirt and washing it let me know ahead of time, so I can get pictures done.”

“Oh, very crass.” He ran his hand over the curve of the passenger door. Bard was not a car man by any means – he was rather more fond of motorcycles – but just like anyone, he did appreciate a nice one when it came along. It was the same how lots of people felt about fashion models – you didn't go around thinking about them all day, but if there was an opportunity to have a drink with one, then why not, right?

“I think you should let me drive.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Bard leaned back against the car, folding his arms across his chest. Thranduil stepped up to him, close enough their noses almost touched. “I'm only getting in that car if you let me drive it.”

Thranduil tipped his head to the side, looking at Bard. “Come on,” Bard said. “Aren't I pretty enough to get my way, yet?”

He was just teasing but, to his surprise, Thranduil simply asked, “Can you drive stick?”

“I- what?”

“Can you?”

“Of course. You're serious?”

Thranduil held up the key, which was nothing more than a remote which undoubtedly started the engine via some kind of laser and who-the-fuck-even-knew. He dropped it into Bard's palm. “Think of it this way, Bard,” he said, nudging the other man aside so he could get into the passenger seat. “I wouldn't bring a car like this into _this_ kind of neighbourhood if I didn't have the funds available to get it replaced.”

“This isn't _that_ bad of a neighbourhood,” Bard replied, but since he was getting his way he figured now was the time to get in the car before Thranduil changed his mind.

 

Things Bard hadn't realized before he got into Thranduil's car, but learned within five minutes: he was suddenly considered a good deal more attractive than he ever had been before. Possibly in his entire life.

“You get used to it,” Thranduil said, mildly, when after the fifth stoplight Bard had experienced even more women smiling and winking at him. “It's worse for women, I imagine.”

“Has Tauriel ever driven this?”

“Oh, she dropped it off for me once. She simply said 'never again'.”

“She could have been talking about the fact that this is sort of like driving a computer.”

Thranduil laughed. “Maybe,” he admitted. He stretched a bit in his seat, his body looking impossibly long even in the corner of Bard's eye. “So, where are we going?” he asked.

“You have nothing in mind?”

“I did, but you're the driver, and I want to see what _you_ have in mind.”

Another thing he learned was that his passenger looked better in this sort of car as well, especially the way he lounged back against that leather seat. And that speeding was almost impossible to avoid, because every time a light flicked from red to green it was less about granting permission and more of a challenge that he _go, go go_.

“Do you know how to talk your way out of a speeding ticket?” Thranduil asked, dryly, as they took a very sharp corner.

“I have never found myself very charming around the police.”

“I meant more along the ways of you talking me out of making you pay for it.”

“Oh, well. In that case we both know the answer to that one.”

Thranduil propped his elbow on the door, glancing out curiously at the streets. “Where are we going?”

“You'll see.”

“Are we leaving the city?”

Bard didn't answer, and Thranduil didn't press the issue. He took the main roadway out, heading west. It had been awhile since he'd had a reason to go this far out, beyond city limits; it had certainly been much longer than that since he'd done it for fun.

Not so slowly, the city fell away. Often, cities would just stop; while the roads continued to be under their jurisdiction, they'd yet to start building so far out. Bard cut by some farms, made a turn down a leafy back road. Suddenly, Thranduil was leaning close to him. “Now I'm curious,” he said, against Bard's ear.

“Five more minutes. Be patient, you damn yuppie.”

He was running along the edge of a nature sanctuary, which had been a rather favourite spot of his wife's, though what Bard liked about it was what was nearby.

There was just enough space on the side of the road to actually be a dirt driveway instead of just a ditch. This was a farmer's entrance, where a tractor could be parked. The trees gave way, creating a gap that looked out across a wide and expansive field.

Bard got out and Thranduil gamely followed, moving to stand with him in front of the car, leaning back against the bumper.

“It's a field,” Thranduil said.

“I never get to see the sky anymore, you know,” Bard said, crossing his arms and looking out across the gently waving grass. Night was approaching, softly, as it did in the summertime, the sky slowly turning a soft, deep blue, making way to orange and red along the horizon. “I live too deep in the city, too close to the ground. And when I was dating my wife, this was the best place to see a sunset. And the stars.”

“They're impossible to see in the city,” Thranduil agreed, in a light voice that surprised him. He hadn't expected the other man to have any interest in stargazing, let alone notice stars or a lack thereof.

“We can head back into town, if you want.”

“No. It's quiet here. I like it.”

Quiet. How loud was Thranduil's life? Just as noisy as Bard's was, he'd bet. The other man leaned his shoulder against his, but for a long time that was the only contact between them. The air grew chill but heat still wafted up from the sun-baked fields, blurring the lines of the sunset even more. The stars appeared, one by one, and Bard had always liked that about them – the fact they were always there, never went away; only darkness revealed their presence.

And then it was nighttime and the sound of crickets filled their ears. Not a single car went by in the entire time they were there. It was so odd, actually being alone for miles around. Nothing but night birds, and bugs, and stars, and Thranduil.

“Do you want to go back, now?” he asked, finally, his neck beginning to ache from where they both stood craning their necks to look skyward. He glanced aside at the other man.

And Thranduil looked at him with an expression he hadn't really seen before. It wasn't sad. It was almost weary, but it wasn't quite that either. All Bard knew was that now was the time to kiss him, and he seized the moment with a passion that stunned even him.

Thranduil was warm and pliant against him, and even though he certainly wasn't delicate in nature or stature it was surprisingly easy for Bard to gather him up in his arms and press him down against the hood of the car. The metal had long ago cooled from the heat of the engine. Thranduil's lips and teeth found that spot behind Bard's earlobe, and Bard let out a soft hiss of appreciation.

“Let's stay for awhile longer,” Thranduil murmured, and Bard nodded.

“Sure,” he whispered. He felt a tickle of nervousness, uncertainty, fear. _Too close_ , he thought. _Too close_.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	21. too close

As much as Bard had enjoyed the car and driving it, and he especially enjoyed all of the things he and Thranduil could get up to in and around it, eventually it wasn't enough, and they'd decided to continue their evening elsewhere.

That 'elsewhere' had ended up being Thranduil's place in Greenwood Estates. It had happened naturally enough, so smoothly that Bard had only for a moment been uncertain at this new turn in their relationship before Thranduil had easily distracted him from – well, from anything that wasn't Thranduil, frankly.

He had awoken in a very satisfying tangle of limbs, but coffee and breakfast was on his mind. When he had freed himself he'd then stayed and witnessed Thranduil practically rolling about until he was nothing more than a lump of blankets and lean naked businessman. “So you want some coffee too, then?” he'd asked. No answer, not that he was surprised.

Thranduil had a very nice house. Bard was expecting to see all manner of things on his way downstairs to make coffee; what he wasn't expecting to see, though, amidst the artwork and vases and high-tech stereo equipment and top-of-the-line fridge, was Legolas sitting at the kitchen table and eating a peanut butter sandwich.

They were both stock still for a moment, staring at each other, as if fervently hoping they could both pretend the other wasn't there. Legolas looked like he'd been dragged backwards through a hedge. Bard, he knew, looked well and thoroughly – well, it was pretty obvious what Bard looked like. Legolas swallowed a mouthful of sandwich. “Hey,” he said, finally.

“Good morning. This is awkward, right?” Bard asked.

“Well, yeah. Go put a shirt on. This isn't spring break in Cabo.”

Bard beat a hasty retreat back upstairs. Thranduil peered out from the blankets, giving him a questioning look.

“Why did you come back without coffee?” he asked, displeased.

“Your son is down there and demanded I put on a shirt. To make it less awkward.”

“What?!”

Locating the shirt he'd rid himself of the night before, Bard ignored him and headed back down. Like a bad dream, Legolas was still there, bravely eating his sandwich.

“So what are you doing here?” he asked.

Legolas scoffed. “I could ask the same of you.”

“You can probably figure out what I'm doing here. As for _your_ circumstances, I haven't a clue.”

Legolas paused. “Okay,” he admitted. “That's more or less true. Well, _I'm_ here because I got too drunk last night and didn't have money for a taxi home, and my cell phone died so I couldn't call anyone. I crashed in the front lawn because it was cool and soft and there was a spot for me to throw up. The lady down the street woke me up while she was walking her dog.”

“That must have been a surprise for her.”

“Enh, not exactly the first time it's happened. Anyway, I really, really wanted a peanut butter sandwich. And I'm still drunk.” He took another, solid bite, raising his eyebrows at Bard. “So are you, like, dating my dad or is this purely a booty call kind of thing?” he asked, mouth full.

“Uh.”

“Can I tell Tauriel?”

“Grow up, Legolas.” That was Thranduil. Bard couldn't tell if he was miraculously coming to the rescue, or about to make things much worse. He was wearing the sort of expensive housecoat normally seen on mob bosses who read a dozen newspapers whilst sitting in public cafes, actively not giving a damn. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Thranduil gave Bard an encouraging nod, and after a moment of hesitation he sat down across from Legolas.

“Take a shower before you leave, you look awful,” Thranduil observed, shrewdly.

“Are you talking to me or your son?” Bard asked.

“My son, of course. You look fine.”

Legolas snapped, then winced at the rather loud sound he'd made. “ _Fine_ ,” he said. “You look _fine_ , Bard.”

“You're taking this rather well,” Bard said, carefully. “Has this happened before?”

To his surprise, Legolas actually snorted. “Are you kidding?” he said. “This is a bout of bad luck for all of us. I've never seen _any_ of my dad's paramours, and he's acting all distant and icy right now probably because he's embarrassed beyond belief.”

“ _Legolas_.”

“It's fine, dad,” Legolas said, looking up as Thranduil set a mug of coffee down in front of him, and then another one for Bard. “I've always known you've had a life and sometimes it involves the company of other people. I just wouldn't have expected to see someone I knew, that's all.”

“Why didn't you let me know you were home?”

“Well, I _was_ going to go upstairs and see if you could cut the crusts off my sandwich for me, but I decided it would be kinder to let you sleep.”

Thranduil made a sound in the back of his throat, almost dismissive, but Bard thought he heard something else.

They had the sort of unusual, strange meal that would have occurred to anyone, really, in such a situation. Still, Bard knew better than to linger. He brought up calling a cab so he could head home, but it was Legolas who rose and said it was about time he go. “My phone's charged anyway,” he said. “I better call it quits before something really crazy happens.”

 

Legolas remembered, exactly, when he found out his mother had died. It had not been at school, which he didn't even remember anymore – they'd probably learned something interesting and vaguely useless, like the nesting habits of owls. Anyway, it wasn't important.

He remembered walking down the block from where the bus had dropped him off, and seeing Tauriel's nanny standing with her in his driveway. “Hello, Legolas,” she'd said, holding out her free hand. “Your dad called and he's not going to be home for a little bit. So you're going to spend time with us!” That's when he knew. He just hadn't realized it at the time.

It hadn't felt like anything was wrong. He went to Tauriel's house and together they made a fort and coloured in colouring books and it was really, really fun because Legolas remembered that this was just like a sleepover, but on a school day, and wasn't that the best? They had macaroni and cheese for dinner, the cheap kind that came out of the box, which he loved, and ice cream.

It was only at night, when he got lonely and went to wake the nanny up – she had fallen asleep on the couch after putting them to bed – and asked when he could talk to his mom, well. That was when he realized something very wrong had happened, because she told him that she couldn't and that had never happened before.

Tauriel was forever in his memory after that. Even if they had decided to part ways, it wouldn't have mattered; she was a part of him, now. He could only be glad that they did not become enemies, or, worse, lost touch; she had remained, like a rock jutting out from the edge of a waterfall. She was always there.

And so was Thranduil, once he had recovered. While back then he hadn't understood everything that had gone wrong, Legolas did now. Now he stood with his father on the sidewalk, waiting for the cab to draw up. Thranduil had changed into trousers and a henley, and was looking, if not awkward, at least slightly out of his element.

“So you're alright?” he asked, finally.

Legolas looked at him. He knew his father was intelligent, but also passionate – he knew because he was his father and you can always tell when someone that close to you doesn't care for the important things. But Thranduil _did_ care. And while his father's behaviour puzzled him at times, at others it did not. He could see fear, there. Fear and pain. And, just then, apprehension.

So Legolas just smiled, and shrugged. “Bard's cool,” he said.

“I meant-”

“I know what you meant, dad.”

Thranduil, however, looked unconvinced. Legolas just shook his head. “You used to laugh and smile, more,” he said.

“Did I?”

“Sure. When I was young. Even after mom died. Why don't you do it so much anymore?”

And Thranduil stared pensively into the distance, or at least across the street. “I don't know,” he replied, finally, but Legolas thought _he_ knew, at least. Thranduil stopped smiling the day Legolas moved out, the year Tauriel graduated. Thranduil stopped laughing once he was alone.

And Legolas thought about the man inside, sitting uncomfortably at the kitchen table, and he was terribly relieved.

“I like him,” he said, seriously, as the cab pulled up. “Really.”

“Legol-”

“I like him, and it's fine,” Legolas said, firmly, before pulling the cab door shut. Never let Thranduil have too much information, he'd learned. There was no telling what he'd do with it.

 

Bard sat at the kitchen table, feeling distinctly out of place while he drank his coffee, until Thranduil came back in. “I hope this was okay,” he said, slowly.

Thranduil walked up and pulled out the chair beside him from the kitchen table, and sat down. They were so close, their knees touched. “Tell me about that curfew thing again,” he said, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, his elbow on the table, so at ease it was infectious. “Do you have to meet it?”

“I- no.”

“Did your daughter get home safely?”

“According to her, she did. Also, the movie sucked.”

Thranduil leaned forward. His lips were soft and searching, his hand slid from Bard's knee up the inside of his leg, and Bard let out a soft sound, a sort of sigh, and Thranduil pulled away.

“Let's go back upstairs,” he suggested.

Bard looked at the other man, into his eyes, and found something there he wasn't sure he wanted to see. But his hands, his lips, were so convincing. What was another hour or two? What was another day? In no time at all he was allowing himself to be led back upstairs.

Soon, though.

 _Too close, Bard, too close_.


	22. bilbo's bag end barbecue

A barbecue at Bag End was always a great time, had by all. Bibo loved to hold these sorts of things for his employees, but obviously this one was special – not only his usual employees and Thorin's nephews, but also Sigrid, and her father, and a certain girl who had caught Kíli's eye, if Fíli's gossip was anything to be believed.

Therefore, he'd gone all out. There were drinks of all varieties, several different salads, endless amounts of bread and a cheese board that made Bilbo a bit weak in the knees. Thorin would be home soon, ready to grill marinated pork, skewers of beef and chicken, burgers and veggie burgers, hot dogs and smokies and bell peppers and mushrooms. It was going to be a feast, filled with laughter and music. Bilbo had even closed the Shire at two in the afternoon, knowing his presence was going to be needed. Besides, how were his workers going to make it if they had a shift?

It was early, still, and he was putting the finishing touches on everything. Bilbo loved food, something that sometimes showed in his figure when he got a bit lazy in the winter months, not that Thorin seemed to mind at all. And because he loved food, he loved to prepare it, too. And while he enjoyed gourmet, he also appreciated the simple things, too – so just then he was having a hard time not eating all of the cherry tomatoes that were supposed to be going in the salad.

“I caught you,” said a voice behind him, just as he ate one. Fíli appeared, with a sneaky, pleased look on his face, but Bilbo knew he was just teasing.

“This is my house, I do what I want, young man,” he said, lightly pinching at Fíli's elbow. “Out! Go! Set the table. And make sure there's enough ice in the cooler. Try not to get too drunk until everything is set up!”

“Ugh,” Fíli said, plaintively, slouching off, but he was only able to hold the act for a few seconds. Soon after Bilbo spied him from beyond the kitchen cupboards, humming as he rearranged bowls on the 'indoor' table – the table of foodstuffs Bilbo wanted to stay inside with the air conditioning, rather than out in the heat.

Bilbo had left the front door open, a sure sign that the party was soon underway and guests were more than welcome. Eventually, he heard heavy footsteps, and voices, and everyone trickling in said hello to Bilbo, asked what he needed, started helping set things up. Nori and Balin had a great disagreement on how to arrange the chairs outside, and their good-natured arguing floated in through the open back door.

“Hallo hallo!”

Ah, that was Kíli! Bilbo wiped his hands on his dish towel, and turned to come face to face with Kíli and, very surprisingly, Tauriel. She was wearing a summer dress and holding a large bowl with clear plastic wrap overtop it.

“Hi,” she said. “Um. I brought pasta salad.”

“And it's amazing,” Kíli crowed.

Now, generally when Bilbo was confused or surprised about something, he had to address it. He was good at letting behaviours he didn't understand but expected slide by without much more argument than an eyeroll, but when he had no inkling of something he needed to worm his way through it, see it from beginning to end.

This was no exception.

“Tauriel?” he asked. “But I thought...”

Her expression wavered, ever-so-slightly, and Bilbo realized to his horror that she was probably construing his surprise with disappointment. Hastily, he continued on. “I thought you had eyes for Bard!”

She blinked. “Bard?” she repeated, as if that was the name of a foreign country that had never come up in school, ever. “I... Bard?” and then she started to giggle. Kíli was looking at her like she was so cute he wanted to die. Bilbo knew what that looked like, because he'd once gotten a glimpse of his own reflection in a mirror when he saw Thorin playing with a puppy.

“We're just friends,” she finished, composing herself. “He's coming today, though, right?”

“Yeah, Sigrid said she was going to drag him here. I guess his mood's been pretty foul lately.”

“Well, his boss is a raging numbskull,” Tauriel said, supportively. She held up the bowl. “Is it okay that I brought something? I wasn't sure about the protocol.”

“It's wonderful that you brought something, thank you, Tauriel.” Bilbo took the bowl from her and set it on the counter, moving to hug her.

“I- oh, okay,” she stammered.

“Welcome to Bag End,” he said, stepping back with a smile. “We're glad to have you.” She blushed.

 

Obviously, a tour of the house was needed. After grabbing a beer each, Kíli trooped upstairs into the official no-guests zone. Tauriel, naturally, looked around curiously the whole time. “So they only started living together recently?”

“Uh-huh. They've got a pretty nice setup though. Back when they had separate houses it kind of looked like this only... you know... separate. I think it's more Bilbo than Uncle Thorin when it comes to the furniture.”

“And the paintings?”

“Definitely Uncle Thorin's taste- no, no!”

“Aw, Kíli!” Tauriel had stopped on the stairs to look at a framed photograph hanging amongst a dozen others on the wall. The picture showed a very small Kíli – no older than five, surely – standing on a walkway in a zoo, hands planted on thick glass, staring solemnly down into a leopard enclosure. Fíli stood next to him, watching his brother carefully, as if afraid he might somehow fall in and get gobbled up. “Oh my God.”

“No, stop!”

“You look so cute though! Did your mom take this?”

“Yeah, she did.”

She smiled at the picture, fondly, then looked around. “Hey, is your graduation picture on here?” she asked, in a decidedly evil tone.

Kíli seized her hand. “No you don't,” he said, firmly, leading her up the rest of the stairs before she could snoop around. “You are never seeing that one, ever. Come on.”

“Is your bedroom up here?” And again, Tauriel didn't have to worry that he would take that question the wrong way.

“Huh? Oh, nah,” Kíli said, dismissively. “No, me and Fíli get the run of the basement. I just wanted to show you the office.”

The office, it turned out, was a very formal word for a space that wasn't that. It was an amalgamation of a lot of things. There was a desk with a computer, yes, but there was also some recording equipment, some instruments and, in the corner, the kind of desk Tauriel had only ever seen in art classrooms she might pass on the way to statistics at school.

“Uncle Thorin hates to see our 'things' strewn everywhere, so we're to keep our hobbies in a 'single, controlled space',” Kíli said, using finger quotations. “Which is fine by me, the lighting up here is really good for drawing.”

“Can I see?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, eagerly, but a bit shyly, too. It was probably why they were up there in the first place.

The two desk chairs were covered in books and printed out guitar tabs, so they both sat on the floor and Kíli showed her some of his sketchbooks, as well as his art portfolio. “This is some of what I submitted to get into the Fine Arts Program, and some new things,” he said. “I'm working on a painting of the Shire right now, but it's in the figure studies stage still.” He fidgeted with a pencil. “Do you... could I paint you into it?”

Tauriel felt her face burning. “Really?”

“Is that okay?”

“I would be... that's really... Yes, of course!”

He smiled, relieved. “Good,” he said. “Because, um, I already plotted you in by the window.” She laughed.

They moved through different drawings, the paper making soft, fluttering noises. Every now and then he would explain something, why he drew what he did or the subject itself, and sometimes she made surprised little gasps when she saw the detail in some of them. Kíli noticed minute things, the littlest details that brought his drawings to life even when they were half complete. She wondered what he noticed about her.

When she looked up she saw he was watching her, carefully, and he smiled. “I wonder how many greens I'd have to use, to get your eyes,” he said.

“As many as you like,” she halfway stated, halfway suggested.

She looked down at the last drawing, a partially-done portrait of Sigrid, wisps of hair surrounding her doe-like face, her shoulder disappearing into a blur of sketched lines but her eyes so very alive. He held out his hand. “Come on,” he said. “Let's get more drinks.”

He helped her up and, leaving the pictures on the floor – “Ah, don't bother” – they headed back down the stairs, Kíli ushering her quickly along lest she attempt to find his grad picture again.

She lifted her beer to take one last swig, and Tauriel didn't know if it was the distractions of the house, and Kíli, and everything, or simply the fact she was really losing her touch, but she finally took a look at it.

She realized she had stopped in her tracks but he had kept on going, so she quickly rushed to the kitchen where he was pulling out a few cases of beer, no doubt to refresh the ice bins outside. Lonely Mountain Brewery. Just like the one she was holding.

“Do you want another of the same?” he asked cheerfully.

“Where do you get this beer?”

“It's my uncle's, actually! Do you like it?”

“Kíli,” Tauriel said, slowly. “What's your last name?”

He looked puzzled. “Oakenshield...?” he said, raising his eyebrows and smiling a little, as if wondering if this was a game of hers.

Suddenly, though, she couldn't smile, no matter how hard it was to resist one of his. Smiling was the last thing on her mind – the only thing she could think about now was escape.

“I have to go,” she said, urgently. “Now, Kíli. The quickest way out?”

“What?” he sobered. “You're serious?”

“Deadly serious.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I'll explain later but please, get me out of here.”

They started to head towards the entrance to the kitchen so she could rush out the front door, but then Tauriel heard the heavily accented tones of none other than Dwalin, the man she had butted heads with days ago. With a tiny and embarrassing yelp, she turned on her heel and rushed out the sliding glass door.

Oh, why did she leave her hair down? It was like a flag flying behind her!

In a moment, Kíli joined her. “Tauriel, what-” he began, but she was already hurrying to the side of the house, past a puzzled looking Bard and Bilbo stretched out on patio furniture.

“Please, I can't be seen!”

It was a testament to Kíli and the respect he afforded her, because at the look in her eyes he just nodded. “Come on,” he said, opening the gate. “I'll distract everyone inside the house. Just... go down the side of the driveway and try to avoid the big picture window, okay?”

Tauriel grabbed his face in her hands and gave him a big kiss on the mouth in gratitude. It was their first kiss. Tauriel stood there, stunned, as she realized that; but Kíli, who was suddenly wearing the biggest grin she'd ever seen on his face, gave her a bit of a shake.

“Go!” he exclaimed. There was nothing more to be said, so she beat a hasty retreat.

It would have worked if that hadn't been the exact moment Thorin pulled into the driveway.


	23. feminine wiles

“Da!”

Bard had been lazing about, drinking a beer and chatting with Bilbo. Seeing Tauriel rush by, with Kíli hot on her heels, had been weird but not weird enough to make him get to his feet and see what all the fuss was about. Probably some strange new thing kids in their twenties were doing.

Sigrid was different, though, as soon as she hailed him; in a moment, his daughter's tone had the smile dropping off his face and sitting up in his seat. “What is it?”

“I think-” but suddenly she stopped talking, because there was a horrendous roar at the front of the house. Both Bard and Bilbo leaped to their feet, Bilbo a great deal more agilely than Bard.

The quickest way around was the side door that Tauriel and Kíli had just been heading for, and he had a suspicion this had something to do with their behaviour. What he hadn't expected, though, was for the source of chaos to be Tauriel herself.

As he and Bilbo rounded the side of the garage, Sigrid on their heels, they came upon Thorin, standing there next to his car with his keys still in his hand. He was yelling. Bard knew Thorin enough to know that he hadn't started off yelling, probably, because he always started at a simmer instead of a boil; but if he had been this quick to go from angry to raging, something wasn't right.

Especially because Bard saw that Thorin was raging right in the face of his nephew, who was gamely standing between him and Tauriel, like some kind of buffer.

Tauriel was backed up against the front door, up the walkway, as if the shade of the overhanging roof could make her disappear. Dwalin stood next to her, towering, angry. She was so red in the face that, against the ginger of her hair, she looked positively purple. But she didn't look mad, which is what Bard would have expected from her.

Something was very wrong.

Thorin's rant was hard to follow; words like 'sneaky' and 'insidious' were used. But only when the phrase 'feminine wiles' popped up that Kíli's shout exploded out of him, effectively knocking the wind out of his uncle's sails, if only for a moment.

“ _Feminine wiles_?” he thundered. “How _dare_ you! _Don't talk to her like that_!”

“Kíli, mind yer own!” Dwalin snapped. “You've no idea what's going on. This one-” and here he jabbed a savage finger in Tauriel's direction. “Is not who she claims to be!”

“Don't call me a liar!” Tauriel suddenly yelled. Actually, it was more like a squeak, and Bard felt that knee jerk urge to rush to her aid. She shouldn't need it, and that was what made his protective instinct so strong just then. She was obviously so overcome, so beset on all sides, that she needed allies and she needed them fast.

“Everyone calm down!” he called. And everyone probably would have ignored him were it not for Bilbo shouting the exact same thing, as well as putting a quelling hand on Thorin's shoulder. “Can we at least take this inside? Away from the entire world? Let's be civilized!”

There was a silence, a pause, but finally Thorin gave a stiff nod, which everyone appeared to take to heart. This was Thorin and Bilbo's house, and whether Bard liked it or not, they were the ones who had command here.

Tauriel, it was clear, didn't want to budge at all when Bard came up to her. She pulled back from his hand, but suddenly Sigrid was slipping past him. She put her hand in Tauriel's in a move Bard recognized – it was what she did on the first day of school, every year, when Tilda was nervous about going to a new class. He wanted to hug her and tell her how amazing she was, but now wasn't the time, unfortunately.

The rest of the Shire employees, friends of Thorin and Dwalin and Bilbo, and all those connected who had been hovering in the front entryway peering out the door and watching the show, fluttered like startled birds as soon as they all made to go inside. Kíli protectively ushered Tauriel onto a sitting chair in the living room and hovered beside her. Sigrid perched on the chair with her, and Bard ended up standing on the other side. Everyone else piled in.

Thorin stayed standing, and he marched up to Tauriel, ignoring Sigrid and her attempt to be a subtle human shield. “Explain yourself,” he said.

Some of the steel was returning to Tauriel; her flush was starting to fade. “I don't need to explain myself to anyone.”

“Not even my nephew?”

She and Kíli exchanged a glance. “What we talk about is none of your concern,” she said. “If he wants to talk to me about anything – he will.”

“Uncle, everything's fine,” Kíli said. “Right, Bilbo?”

Bilbo didn't look like he appreciated being thrown right into the middle of a firefight. He cleared his throat and said, after a moment, “Tauriel has been nothing but courteous...”

“See!” Kíli said, triumphantly.

“Don't be a fool, lad,” Dwalin said, sadly. “She had you pegged from the start.”

“Not that it's any of your business, but _I've_ been approaching _her_.”

“That's how they do it.”

“What intentions do you have with Kíli?” Thorin suddenly asked, soberly, staring down at Tauriel. She glared up at him, fiercely.

“None,” she said, “Of. Your business.”

“Tauriel,” surprisingly, it was Kíli speaking, his voice soft. “Please.”

She gave him an offended look, and for a moment Bard could practically feel the tension in the room. But then she blinked, deflated slightly. “I have never approached Kíli under false pretences,” she said. “I didn't know a thing about any of this until I was drinking a beer in the kitchen. Please, just _believe_ me.”

“You've proven yourself to be sharp, intelligent, and aware. And you're telling me you just _didn't know_?”

“Look, we didn't discuss what his uncle does or the name of my boss or anything because quite frankly it would have been _weird_ to!” Tauriel said, her voice going a bit shrill with irritation.

“And last names?”

“Why would we discuss last names, we weren't ID-ing each other,” she burst out, irritably.

“Don't all of you have Facebook nowadays?” That was Balin, his voice reasonable.

Kíli cleared his throat. “We haven't added each other yet,” he said. “This is _new_. Thanks, everyone. Thanks, family.”

“I'm so sorry.” Suddenly, everyone was glaring at Bard, but he continued on bravely nonetheless. “But what _is_ this about, anyway?”

“Dwalin and Uncle Thorin think Tauriel is seducing me so that she can somehow help cripple the Lonely Mountain brand, shut down the brewery, and force them into allowing her boss to invest. Or something.” Kíli threw his hands up in confusion. “That's what I got before everything went shithouse crazy.”

Bard couldn't help it; he snorted. Suddenly, Dwalin was looking at him like he wanted to bury a heavy, sharp object in his face. “Something funny, Bowman?” Thorin did not sound impressed.

“Yes,” he said. “That _entire_ theory. Thranduil would never use his employees that way, let alone his best one. And _she_ would never do anything like that, nor suffer anyone who suggested it.”

“I didn't realize you and _Thranduil_ were on such close terms,” Thorin said, coolly.

“Mr Greenleaf respects who I pick as friends,” Tauriel said, unknowingly saving Bard from having to cobble together a response to that. “And he respects _me_. If you think this is a likely scenario, you don't know him at all.”

Thorin crossed his arms. “Greenleaf is a bully and a cheat,” he said, frankly. “He's selfish, and soulless. It's clear to me, and I'm surprised it isn't clear to you. Should I take back what I said about you being smart?”

“Uncle!” Kíli shouted, scandalized. Tauriel leaped to her feet, almost knocking Sigrid to the floor.

“The only thing you need to take back is your insults to my boss,” she grit out. “I won't sit here and let you insult him.”

“Well, we aren't going to stop.”

“That's why I'm leaving,” Tauriel said. She gave Bilbo a tense nod that was bordering on apologetic, before turning on her heel, her hair almost whipping Bard in the face. For a moment, Bard didn't know what the Hell he was supposed to do – was he supposed to follow, or stay? Who had his allegiance in this ridiculous spat? But the look Sigrid gave him told him what he had to do. He wordlessly took her hand and lead her out, despite Bilbos' rather surprised 'Bard!' following them.

On the step, Kíli was trying to leave with Tauriel. “No, you need to stay, you _know_ you need to stay,” she said. “It's your family.”

“They're wrong! They're wrong!”

“Will you call me later?” she asked, so hopefully that Bard felt bad for her. Kíli suddenly pulled her into a hug, which she seemed slightly uncomfortable by. In that moment, Bard thought he understood her; life was difficult when you were used to being detached around most people.

“Come on, Tauriel, I'll give you a ride home,” Bard said, gently. She and Kíli disentangled, him regretfully, her awkwardly.

As they got into the car, Fíli pulled up, pulling out bags of ice and a bottle of vodka from the trunk. “Whoah,” he said, looking at their pale faces. “What'd I miss?”

“Go ask your brother,” Bard said, wearily. Fíli caught sight of Kíli, standing at the front door, and hurried towards him without a backwards glance.

Bard had been driving for about three minutes in silence before saying, “Alright, who wants to get takeout?” He couldn't tell who sounded more eager to ignore what had happened, his daughter or Tauriel.


	24. complications

Tauriel had gotten a lot of freedom when she was younger, since her parents had never been around. It wasn't that she was spoilt, but she definitely took advantage of the fact that often she had little in the way of any authoritative figure who could punish her. She had never been anything but kind to her nannies, who she sometimes felt were like long-lost relatives – it was her teachers who she tormented, endlessly, with her bold defiance. It was older kids she came across who challenged her, bullies who she caught pushing other people around, that she would get into fights with. She tested boundaries, endlessly tried to see what she could get away with just by arguing her point and never backing down. But she was also on a handful of sports teams, and that gave her leverage. Even when her parents returned home and caught wind of her hijinks, they did little but watch her carefully to see if she would misbehave; and she carefully stayed out of trouble until they were gone again.

Real authority came in the form of Thranduil. He never punished her, of course; but every now and then he would sit down and give her a good talking to. Sometimes he would point out when she needed to apologize to a teacher or a coach; other times, he told her he thought she was right and she was fine the way she was. And that really stayed with her, to the point where she regarded his advice closely, if only out of habit.

When Thranduil came in on Monday, nothing seemed amiss. Tauriel had spent a long night on Sunday mostly ignoring her phone, or pretending to while she listened for the telltale buzz that was each text Kíli sent. She had practically begged him to call her, that was true; but now that she was separate from him she felt completely, utterly gunshy. Luckily, he wasn't pushy; when she didn't respond after awhile, he appeared to let it be. After an hour of silence she went to read the messages.

 

_2:44_

_Do you want to talk?_

 

_3:03_

_Don't listen to my uncle or anyone, please. They don't know anything. They've been around each other for too long. If my mother was in town she would rip them apart._

 

_3:05_

_Are you ok?_

 

_3:24_

_Everyone's really angry with me but I don't care. Please let's talk?_

 

_4:47_

_Just take care of yourself, but let's talk soon._

 

Oh, Kíli. She wished she could text him back without having to actually, well, _interact_. She had been completely spooked by the encounter, and she didn't frighten easily. She needed some distance before she came trotting back.

There was a stirring inside the office, and then her phone rang. Not the phone in her hand, but the one on her desk. “Tauriel, come in here for a moment,” he said. And that was a bad sign, it really was. If he'd wanted something normal he would have just come out and asked for it.

She directed all calls to go to his office should anyone try to ring for them, then got up and went into the office. He was sitting at his desk but had the chair swivelled around, staring out the window. Whether he was actually enjoying the view or acting out some vague power play, she couldn't tell.

“Tauriel,” he said, not looking at her. “Yesterday, Thorin Oakenshield himself called me on my private line and started ranting at me, demanding to know how I could stoop so low as to try to hoodwink his nephew. Would you care to help illuminate the situation?”

Ah, shit.

Feeling like she was sixteen again and had just been caught skipping English, she folded her hands in her lap and gazed down at the desk. “I met someone,” she said, delicately. “He was nice.”

“And he's related to Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Yes, but I mean. I didn't know that.”

Thranduil sighed. It was a real sigh of distress, which was unusual; not his regular huff that meant he was annoyed or unsurprisingly disappointed by something. “How long has this been going on?”

Would the questions never stop? Interrogations weren't why Tauriel avoided relationships, but she was beginning to see they should be one of her reasons from now on. “Not long.”

He nodded. “Good,” he said, with a note of finality to his voice, like he could see the solution to his problem in sight. “So it will be much easier to end it.”

Tauriel blinked. Certainly she hadn't heard that correctly. “End it?” she echoed. “You mean... not see him anymore?”

“What else would I mean?”

“That doesn't-” it was on the very tip of her tongue to blurt out 'that's not fair', but it was simply not what respectable adults did, which, for all intents and purposes, she was. She took a breath to centre herself. _Don't get angry_. It would only cloud her judgement. “I don't think I understand.”

“It's quite simple, Tauriel,” he replied, raising an eyebrow at her apparent ignorance. “We're in the middle of a professional disagreement with Lonely Mountain. And I'm afraid dating one of its scions is out of the question. It creates a lot of unwanted tension, and it will especially weaken our side if it looks like we're either trying to convince them to trust us outside of the work environment, or if it looks like we'll do anything to please them. Thorin won't be the first, nor the last, to accuse me of using you like some kind of game piece. I refuse to let rumours tarnish your reputation, or the reputation of this company.”

“But won't Thorin think he's right if you just... if I stop? Like I was caught in the act?”

“It's possible, but he'll take it as a win for his side, and that gives me a bit of leverage.” At her shocked expression, he shook his head. “Don't be naive, Tauriel. This is political as well as personal. And you said you only just started seeing this man?”

“I have, but it's not like _that_. We're friends.”

“Friends can certainly take breaks from one another. Just distance yourself from him and it'll be fine. I'm thinking of you, Tauriel. People will talk. They won't consider you anyone worthwhile. What if you ever want to move to a different company? You won't be trusted.”

Tauriel didn't know what to do or say. She just looked at him, mutely. Could he see the expression in her eyes? Would he be able to tell her what he saw? Because right then she didn't even know how she felt about anything, especially him.

He said he was protecting her. But he was also protecting himself. And that hurt, and she didn't know why. Because he was telling the truth, or because he wasn't telling the whole truth?

“I'll... I'm going to go check your schedule,” she said, quietly, rising to her feet. She drifted back outside to her desk, fixed the call rerouting she'd done on the phone lines, and pulled up the document on her screen.

She felt a bit like crying.

 

She'd given Legolas a call, to see where he was at. “I need the house to myself for a few hours tonight,” she said. “Could you make yourself scarce?”

“Absolutely, gorgeous,” he'd replied. “I'll go check out that new place you need a two week res for and see if I can charm my way in.”

Now she was at home, tidying everything. Repeatedly boiling water for tea because she was preparing it too early, rearranging cookies on a plate, putting different movies on the television for adequate background noise. She didn't want to go anywhere public, she didn't want anyone besides Kíli to see her. Bag End was out of the question, so now he was coming to see her here. She'd texted him, so she wasn't sure what his mood would be when he finally did show up. Happy? Overjoyed? Irritated? Pissed off? She would find out.

When he did arrive and she opened the door for him, though, he just looked relieved. “C'mere,” he said, pulling her into a hug. Her heart fluttered uncertainly like a little bird, but she calmed, slightly, in his embrace.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, pulling back. “Tea?”

“Please.”

If they acted normal, then everything would be normal, right?

“Bilbo's been watching me like a hawk. I guarantee you my absence from home will be noted right now.”

She paused, holding the kettle. “Is that alright?” she asked. “Will you be in trouble?”

“What are they going to do? Ground me?”

She smiled tightly and poured the hot water into the teapot. “I'm sorry about all this,” she said. “I'm sorry about... me.”

“It's fine, Tauriel. It's them, not us.”

“That's not what I mean, though,” she said. She had to speak quickly, before he overtook her with his kindness. “I'm not... I'm not used to relationships, Kíli. At all. I've never had a boyfriend for longer than a week. It's never felt _right_. I don't like pressure. I do things my own way.” And in her own time.

She expected silence. That was what she always got, when she told anyone that. Men who huffed and puffed, men who glowered, men who blinked back tears. They didn't understand her. She looked right and sounded right and smiled right but she didn't act right. She didn't fit the mould of a normal woman. And it offended them.

But there was no heavy pause this time. “I know.” Kíli said, shrugging. “I kind of figured.”

Now, _now_ there was silence. Tauriel just looked at him and he looked back at her. Then she said, “Do you want a cookie?” and he nodded, and in a few minutes they both sat down to have their tea.


	25. our story

Kíli was trying to understand Tauriel, but he knew they must be missing something fundamental between the two of them, and that was upsetting.

She kept saying 'You don't understand' and that was true, but that didn't mean Kíli thought she had a point. As far as he could see, they were both adults. They could both do as they pleased. But Tauriel seemed to find trouble with that, which was strange – she had never struck him as anything other than independent.

Thranduil was about to leave on a business trip, though, from what he understood, and he was looking forward to it. That meant he could maybe speak to Tauriel without having her boss metaphorically hovering over her like a hawk.

As for Kíli's family, things were starting to border on ridiculous. It had only been a couple of days, but Bilbo was suddenly scheduling him extra shifts, often in the evening so it would be harder for him to go and see Tauriel once she was done work. He had a feeling Thorin was behind it, and Bilbo was going along, but only in the loosest sense. He also felt like it might even be possible for Tauriel to come and see him while he was on shift and Bilbo might not say anything, but it would be better not to tempt fate. Besides, he didn't want to pit Bilbo and Thorin against each other more than they already were. He'd already heard a few whispered arguments in the house.

Instead he would get up like normal and at around lunchtime head into the city. Fíli would have the car, so he would need to bus. Then he and Tauriel would go find somewhere to sit and have lunch together, wherever that may be. She was carefully composed and distant, but he was just glad she still wanted to see him. He knew that for her, that was the most important thing.

He was only glad that Fíli was supportive. His brother was carefully mild about the whole thing in public, but no one seemed very fooled by it; Fíli would always have his brother's back, that was for certain, whether he disagreed with him or not. But for Kíli it was doubly comforting, because he knew Fíli was not above telling him off or trying to convince him to go a different route if he thought Kíli was being foolish.

Instead, his brother simply told him to be careful, and he outwardly did not seem to object to Tauriel in any way whatsoever. Fíli tended to have good instincts about people, but he hadn't spent enough time with her to truly tell; it was proof of his brother's trust in him that Kíli didn't have to defend her. Besides, it wasn't like she was overtly seducing him like some kind of power-suited siren queen. In fact, she was acting so much like a deer about to take off at a run that it was laughable she ever had any sort of underhanded scheme with him in mind.

On the third day they met in a diner three blocks away from the Shire, down one of the less busy streets. Tauriel looked almost normal in her blouse and pencil skirt, having left her jacket at her desk; it was as if she had shed that cool, commercial part of herself and left a wild thing behind.

It was hard to talk, understandably so, because there was always the risk of accidentally going over the edge and making a scene that neither of them wanted to enact. And they were bad at texting and talking on the phone, too, they'd realized. As people they were too communicative in random ways, stilted in others, and they didn't quite match up unless they were face to face and could muddle their way through.

Kíli felt bothered by everything, and he knew she was too. They were back to their rather circular discussion again, which never went anywhere. She wanted to obey Thranduil, but couldn't. Or she couldn't disobey, but wanted to. And Kíli claimed he was free from persecution, would act on his own instincts, and they both knew that wasn't completely true.

“It's just...” Tauriel trailed off.

“What?”

“I'm afraid.”

He didn't say anything. Instead, he let her work through her thoughts while she inspected her soup of the day, which she had crumbled a handful of soda crackers into. “I'm afraid he won't want anything to do with me,” she admitted, finally.

That wasn't something he had expected her to say. He reached for her hand but it fluttered away from his touch. He tried not to take it personally. “I never had parents who wanted me,” she said. “But Thranduil... he took me in when I had nothing. Literally _nothing_. He paid for my school, let me live under his roof. He took care of me when no one else bothered to. I had nannies, but they had their paycheck. Not that they weren't good people. But...”

“Tauriel,” Kíli said, “you can't just do what he says because you're afraid of that. Or because you think you owe him. You have to do what he says if you believe it's the right thing to do.”

“But I don't know what that _is_ ,” she said, so sadly he couldn't even get mad at her for that. She was right, of course; now that Thorin and Thranduil knew about it, everything was complicated. “I _owe_ him, Kíli.”

“Debt or not-”

“It's not just that. He's like a father to me.”

“He isn't acting very fatherly.”

“Isn't he?” she asked, quietly. “Isn't he doing the exact same thing your uncle is doing?”

She had him there. But it hurt to talk about this, to consider things in this way. He didn't think Tauriel was getting rid of him; but he was afraid she might put him in a box and place him far away, so that if she couldn't see him then she wouldn't miss him.

“We need time,” he admitted. He hated to say it, but there it was; and he couldn't bear the idea of forcing Tauriel to say it, even though she was clearly heading towards that same conclusion.

She looked down at the table, and this time she was the one who reached out. He took her hand, her fingers long and cold. He wanted to buff them, warm them up, but instead he just entwined his fingers with hers.

“We can take as much time as we want,” she said. “This is our story, after all. Not theirs.”

 

Bard figured now was the time to think about things. It wasn't that he really needed Thranduil out of the way for that to happen; simply that his absence put matters into perspective. It was just the fact that with the other man out of town, it left Bard feeling listless, and uncertain. Frankly, mere physical absence made him lonely. And that was a very, very bad sign.

Even Sigrid noticed it, voicing concerns during breakfast and wondering if anything was wrong. He managed to put her off the scent by telling her he was concerned about Tauriel, which launched into Sigrid talking at length about how silly she thought the whole thing was. It was actually rather informative, if only in showing him just how romantic and fanciful his rather sensible teenager could be (the answer: very).

Alfred was poisonous as hell at the office, which wasn't new, but it sent new waves of irritation through Bard today. He was going to end up in jail one of these days when he snapped and threw a stapler at the other man's face. It was so bad that Bard resolved to call in sick the next day, if only to avoid the possible arrest.

When he finally got home, he ached everywhere, as if his bones were slowly falling apart. He laid on the couch until Sigrid came home from the Shire, and apparently that was basically enough of a fuss to make her decide she would put together dinner for the night and he could just rest. She was home more often in the evening these days, since she had rid herself of Penny and, therefore, found herself uncertain of which other friends to stay in contact with. She was talking a lot with the people at the cafe, and seemed to enjoy Legolas also, which made things rather a bit more difficult. Sort of.

He missed his wife. She had made so many things about life bearable, and usually it was only reminding himself of what she might say during any situation that he was able to make it through. It had been unfair, but he supposed that was always the way of things. Sometimes, bad things happened to good people. Bard was still paying off the bills, an omnipresent reminder of how much had gone into keeping her alive until the very last second. It hadn't been enough time. It would never have been enough time for him. He would gladly be in debt for the rest of his miserable life if it had meant keeping her for an hour longer.

How did Sigrid do it? How did any of his children? His eldest had moved gracefully through her grief, and he had been envious, impressed, and frightened by it. How could she do what he felt he never could manage? He knew the answer was because she was probably stronger than him. She was a lot like her mother.

At moments like this he missed all of his children terribly, but at least Sigrid was there to keep him company. He listened to her moving around in the cramped kitchen, talking to herself, barely audible above the sound of the television (as soon as she got home she'd switched it on, likely to stop him from wallowing in silence all by his lonesome). He tried not to smile.

He had grown too close to Thranduil, and that frightened him. Bard prioritized his children above all things, and suddenly he was realizing that he had allowed something else to edge its way onto his list of priorities. That had to be dealt with; it had to be fixed. This was, he knew, part of his unwillingness to give Sigrid so much freedom at home alone, even though she was insistent that he pursue his own interests, his own life. He was letting Thranduil distract him and draw him away; he was waking up, startled, like an animal that had roamed too far from its home glen. Sigrid might think it was fine for him to wander, but she was young and idealistic. Her idea of him as strong and timeless and ever-present was flawed. He was weak and forgetful. Bard had to accept this about himself in order to overcome it, which he did his best to do, day by day, tirelessly, in caring for his son and daughters.

Thranduil had derailed him.

Suddenly, Sigrid was leaning over the couch. “You okay, da?” she asked. It made him smile. When she was little, 'da' had been the first word out of her mouth, and the fact his whole brood called him that now was an endless source of encouragement.

“I'm fine,” he said. “Let's watch a movie.”

After dinner she chose _Labyrinth_ and she cuddled against him like she used to when she was ten. It made it easier to decide what to do about Thranduil, finally.


	26. ultimatum

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that he hadn't forgotten the conversation they'd had. Thranduil came back from his visit to Rivendell refreshed, practically buzzing with an angry energy. Elrond was an old friend of Thranduil's and despite the difference in their businesses they attempted to collaborate as much as possible. While Thranduil had gone, presumably, to help advise Elrond on some plans for expansion, Tauriel had no doubt Elrond – who used to be in public relations – had worked Thranduil up into a bit of a 'public image' frenzy.

Tauriel rarely had to work a Saturday these days, but the Local Entrepreneurs Gathering was drawing near and Thranduil's schedule was as packed and organized as a popstar's on a world tour. She dropped by the office on her way to his home in order to update her personal copy of his schedule, stopped to pick up his dry cleaning, and arrived just in time to catch him arguing with someone on the phone as soon as she let herself in.

From the sound of it, the intensity between Greenleaf Acquisitions and Lonely Mountain was kicking up a notch. Every liquor store currently not owned by Thranduil had thrown its lot in with Thorin, possibly just to piss him off. It was a matter of days before the media started reporting on it – or a matter of hours, judging by the tone of Thranduil's voice.

The thing was, it was guaranteed to make the local news. Not because the story was particularly compelling, of course, but Tauriel knew how the media worked. Thranduil and Thorin were both intense, striking individuals, and those sorts of people tended to jump from notable to iconic as soon as a camera was pointed at them. One good news station could blow everything out of proportion.

Tauriel dropped the keys in the dish by the front door, slipped off her boots, and made her way upstairs to deposit the dry cleaning on the back of the bedroom door. By the time she had trekked back downstairs, Thranduil's voice had moved from the living room, and she discovered him in the kitchen angrily staring out the window at the pristine, motionless pool beyond.

“We're not applying pressure,” he said. “We're simply backing up our own word. Oakenshield knew the repercussions... don't speak to me like that, I know what I'm doing. No. No, that's not what I'm saying. If you're so worried about it, then why the Hell don't you do something about it rather than whining to me? I'm part owner, not the goddamn manager. Well, yes. No. No- yes, that would work.”

Tauriel sat down at the kitchen table and took out her phone, opening up what else she'd had slotted for the day's work. There wasn't much, between the errands she had to do for Thranduil. And there would be no seeing Kíli today, accidentally or otherwise. He was sequestered securely at home for the day, where he was doing endless odd jobs for Bilbo and Thorin while Fíli watched over operations at the brewery.

She was so absorbed in thought that for a moment she hadn't realized Thranduil had stopped talking – that now instead of endless chatter there was unnerving silence. She glanced up and found him still standing at the window, looking at her.

Thinking he must have asked her a question, she said, “Sorry?”

“I said, have you done it yet?”

She blinked. “Done what?”

“Broken it off.”

He was talking about Kíli. For a moment, she wasn't sure what to do. Certainly, she had expected Thranduil might bring it up again, but she had been hoping he wouldn't. The scenario she had wanted was him assuming she would do as he said, and that would be the end of the matter. Tauriel wanted that scenario because, frankly, she hadn't been able to come up with an acceptable strategy to respond with, should he do otherwise.

The time had come, and she was unprepared. Weaponless, witless. Basically, she was thinking, _fuck, fuckfuckfuck_.

There was no use in lying to him. She wouldn't be so disrespectful to Kíli as to try to cobble together some sort of story. “No,” she said, as calmly as she could. “I haven't.”

Something unreadable crossed Thranduil's face. He didn't look angry, which was very unsettling. “No?” he asked, softly. “And why not?”

“I don't want to.”

“I thought we had an understanding.”

“Sorry.”

“You must do it, Tauriel.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

She shook her head and got to her feet, her movements slow and careful. Suddenly, she felt like she was facing down a tiger, and needed to be sure of everything she did. But she wasn't frightened. She knew him, had grown up around him. And while some of him was a mystery, everything else was rather crystalline. Thranduil could, and would, attack weakness. But would he do such a thing to her?

She didn't want to find out, but had a feeling she would.

“I won't,” she said. “It's my life, and I will live it as I see fit.”

Thranduil crossed his arms over his chest. “You are a child,” he said, very coldly. “I don't care how old you are. You and Legolas are the same.”

A small flame of anger licked at Tauriel's heart. “I'm not a child, I'm a grown woman, and I make my own decisions,” she said. “Don't talk to me as if I _am_ a child and can't see that you're more concerned with the reputation of your company than you are of my own well-being.”

“And what if I am? I _am_ Greenleaf, Tauriel. Not you. I have to look out for it.”

“Then what I do shouldn't matter.”

“It does. You are my assistant, you are the public face of my employees, you are literally the most well-known thing about the company when it comes to the entrepreneurial sphere. Your actions could jeopardize everything.”

“Then fire me.”

That had stunned him, she knew it, because suddenly he was staring at her like he wasn't sure what she was anymore. A loyal worker? A rebel employee? After a moment, he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Is this personal, Tauriel?” he asked, without sympathy. “Are you mad at me in some way and this is how you deal with it?”

Tauriel almost stamped her foot, that was how frustrated she felt. “Stop trying to make this into something it's not!” she snapped. “This isn't about me being childish, this isn't about some subtle revenge. This is about me not wanting to do something you're telling me to do, and then not doing it, and it is _pissing you off_!”

“Tauriel!”

But she was on a roll now; there was no stopping it. In the back of her mind she felt bad, but she didn't have the strength to reign herself in. There was a part of Tauriel that relished disturbance; she had outgrown her penchant for fistfights, but certainly not anything else. There had been a moment, when they were in their very early twenties, when Legolas had told her she should quit all other pursuits and just become a cage fighter. It had seemed very doable at the time.

This was not physical, of course, but it was no less dangerous. She was angry at herself for waffling over Kíli, angry at the arrogance of men which spilled over into her own life, but mostly she was angry at Thranduil and the way he was acting.

“I like him. I like Kíli. He makes me happy. He makes me feel special. He's important to me. And if you can't appreciate that, then don't even pretend to act like I'm a part of your company anymore.”

“I know you, Tauriel,” Thranduil exclaimed, exasperated, like he just couldn't wrap his head around how stupid she was acting. “You haven't had a real or decent boyfriend in your life. How can you even begin to comprehend what that's like? You _are_ a child. You think this is real, but you don't know anything about love. This boy is different and he's caught your attention, but I guarantee that that's it.”

“It isn't!”

“You are risking everything in your life on the chance that I'm wrong and, Tauriel, I am right.”

“You don't know him.”

“I know you.”

“The _fuck you do_!” Tauriel shouted, angrily. “You don't know anything! Love? You can't even connect with your own son anymore. Sure, you have your moments, we all do, but Legolas hides from you. And you lie to him and try to force him into some son-shaped _thing_ and every time he reminds you that's not what he is you get angry.”

“That is _not_ what we're talking about.”

“We're talking about love and this is all the same thing! When's the last time you've been in love? You don't have any love left! You've spent it on your stupid business and now you're neglecting me and Legolas and that isn't what family does!”

“You!” Thranduil thundered, so suddenly that Tauriel almost jumped back “You are _not_ a part of this family! Don't you dare cast judgement upon it!”

The next thing Tauriel meant to say choked in her throat. Suddenly, she was not just fighting the urge to scream at him, she was fighting back tears. If she let them spill, then they wouldn't stop. And she refused to cry in front of him.

While she swallowed back a sob, Thranduil seemed to register what he had said, but he clearly wasn't about to back down. The apology she wanted didn't come. Instead he said, his voice distant and chill, so detached it broke her heart, “Just do as I say, Tauriel. Do as I say and then we can sit and discuss this further.”

That was it, an ultimatum. It wasn't obvious, but she saw it for what it was. And she was not going to agree to it. What was she willing to risk for a feeling she had yet to understand, a feeling she wasn't sure was even real?

Everything.

“You know what?” she said, hoarsely. “You're right. I'm not a part of your family. So let's make it clear all around. I'm not a part of your company either. I quit.”

“Tauriel-”

But she had already turned away. She looked over her shoulder at him. She missed him already, but she had made her choice. She would go to someone who wouldn't hurt her. “Goodbye,” she said. “And go fuck yourself.”

On her way out the door, Tauriel stopped to grab her boots and her eye was distracted by the large, fancy vase on display on the side table. She didn't know how much it was worth, and didn't care; she just picked it up and threw it against the wall, where it shattered into a hundred pieces. Satisfied, drained, destructive, and frightened, she left the house and didn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> First off, again, thank you to everyone who is reading. It means a lot!  
> Secondly, a bit of an unfortunate announcement: I have _got_ to take a break. I've been several chapters ahead in this story since I first started uploading it and it's given me wiggle room when I've been too busy to write, but life has finally caught up with me. This chapter was freshly written today. I have a ton of stuff planned (my earlier calculations of finishing everything by chapter 30 is... not going to work, hahaha) and I want to be able to give it the attention it deserves, and give you guys chapters that are worth your time rather than something I spit out really fast and slapped up online.  
>  For the past week I've been working nine hours at one job and four hours at the other, I have a convention coming up (I am a very active cosplayer) with a friend flying in from out of the country, and I'm falling behind on my freelance assignments (where I actually, like, write stuff for money). Basically, I am completely exhausted and also starting to get sick in a multitude of ways with a lot of responsibilities smacking me upside the head.  
> I am still going to update as often as possible, but for the next week and a half or so, maybe more, it will not be daily. I can't say for sure when I will update beyond 'asap' and 'sporadically'. I am really really really sorry about this but I swear I am going to finish the story, so don't worry about me disappearing and you never finding out what happens! (I have to finish this stupid story. I already have enough material for a sequel, LAWD.)


	27. the rainstorm

Oh God.

She had first defended Thranduil, thrown her lot in with him as she faced down Kíli's family. Then, she had severed ties with him and Greenleaf Acquisitions instead. That left Kíli. And now here she was, driving away from him.

She wanted – needed – Legolas, but at the same time couldn't bear to face down anyone else. What if he got rid of her, too? Worst of all, he judged her for it? All of the things she had trusted in were suddenly turning on her. She had thought of Thranduil as a father and he had thrown that in her face. She had gone to Kíli for protection, only to find-

“ _I think you're right. We can't throw away our families for this. I love you, Tauriel. But isn't this what you said to do, not act in haste? It'll be fine. We can work through this and no one will get hurt.”_

Shit, shit, shit.

Fuck, fuck.

The rain splattered against the visor of her helmet. She heard nothing but the dull roar of her own thoughts.

“ _I love you, Tauriel. But-”_

The light flickered from red to green and she ripped forward. It was dangerous to drive like this with the streets flooding, but she didn't care. It felt right. It felt like her tears, the raging emotion that was still locked tightly inside of her. It was swirling around her in a maelstrom, banging about inside her helmet.

“ _I love you, Tauriel.”_

He'd shouted for her as she rushed down the driveway. Everything had been dark and wet and cold. The house, too, held no warmth. The day after she had stormed away from Thranduil she had stopped by Bag End while Thorin and Bilbo were out, hoping she could speak to Kíli in person, settle everything, let him know she had made her decision – only to find he had made a decision, too.

She couldn't hate him for it. After all, he was right; he was doing exactly what she had suggested earlier. Suddenly the roles had switched and now Tauriel was the one hopelessly looking at something she wanted but stood out of reach. How had Kíli acted so calmly towards her when she had remained distant? Here she was, falling apart at the very hint of disengagement.

She took a corner too fast and almost lost control, whipping by a pedestrian trying to cross. The rain was getting under her jacket. She would ride until she died, she decided. Let the cold take her. Let her be numb. She could drive out into oblivion.

She found herself at another red light.

_Stop being so dramatic_ , she thought. _He's just a boy. Another boy. Maybe Thranduil's right_ _and there is nothing special about him, and I'm a fool to think otherwise_.

She couldn't tell if thinking those thoughts made her feel better, or worse.

No, she should turn around. It was stupid of her to run when they hadn't finished their conversation fully. All Tauriel could think was that the wolves were closing in on her, she had cut herself off from so many things she relied on, she didn't have a job, and now Kíli was trying to tell her she should make amends and that things could work out.

Since when was he more composed than she was?

The light turned green and Tauriel fidgeted. _Shit. Just turn around, you idiot._ She glanced around for a cop, then did a U-turn, roaring back the way she had come.

Through the blur of her visor and the rain, the flashing lights of both cop and ambulance ahead seemed to be coming from deep underwater. Tauriel slowed, preparing herself to pass the accident safely, until she saw the telltale red of what was, unmistakably, a 1968 corvette.

 

She felt uncomfortable and damp, but the coffee from the machine down the hall was hot and at least that afforded her some comfort. She jiggled one leg, nervously, tapping her boot against the linoleum. She was not the only person in the ER waiting nervously, but she felt like the craziest. Her hair was tangled and wet, and when she looked down at the wrong angle she saw Kíli's blood on her jacket. He'd been bleeding rather profusely from a cut on the head, and that was mostly what she'd noticed during the entire encounter. Tauriel was too tired to be embarrassed about her behaviour, which had involved a lot of short, sobbing gasps once they told her she couldn't ride in the ambulance.

She hadn't driven straight there. Instead she drove back to Bag End and knocked on the door until the house's lone inhabitant, Fíli, had answered. He had hopped on the back of her bike and they had driven to the hospital almost as soon as the words left her mouth.

When they got here, Fíli rushed straight to the desk, and Tauriel went and tucked herself into a corner. She knew she shouldn't be seen, especially once Thorin and Bilbo showed up. Fíli didn't talk to her again, and she hoped it was only because he was whisked away to the floor Kíli was on, and not because he couldn't stand her anymore.

She turned away when Thorin and Bilbo arrived, but they rushed past, not noticing her. She settled with the idea of staying there for the night, just waiting. She wouldn't be able to go anywhere else and keep her peace of mind. There was no sleep waiting for her at home.

Her helmet lay on the seat next to her, keys in them. This was her fault. He'd been following her, trying to catch her. If she'd just stayed put-

“Tauriel!”

Sigrid was rushing up, followed by her father, who was wearing his shirt inside out. Tauriel blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice was scratchy and squeaky to her own ears.

“Fíli texted me what happened and I just couldn't stay at home. Do you know where they are? Can you show me to them?”

Bard placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder, quelling her. “Sigrid,” he said, gently. “Why don't you go ask at the front desk?”

Sigrid seemed to remember things as they stood, and after looking both sad and embarrassed, nodded and hurried off. Bard looked down at Tauriel and she met his gaze, calmly, and then watched as he sat down next to her, on the chair was wasn't housing her helmet. “They don't know you're here, huh,” he said.

“Fíli knows. I drove him here.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“Car crash. I think he's okay. It didn't look...” she trailed off. She wasn't about to say the word _fatal_ in a hospital.

“I'm sure he'll be fine.”

“Is that what you told Sigrid?”

“Of course.”

Bard wasn't looking so great; he had the distinct air of sleeplessness around him. Probably his daughter had roused him and bullied him into driving her here, though Tauriel doubted he really needed much convincing in that direction.

Sigrid headed back towards them with a purpose, so before she said anything Bard just nodded. “Go on,” he said. “I'll keep Tauriel company.”

“Okay,” she said, leaning in to kiss her father in thanks and heading off to wherever it was Kíli had been sequestered.

It shouldn't be that serious if everyone was allowed to hover over there, Tauriel decided to herself. He should be fine.

Bard didn't speak, just sat beside her. That alone was comforting, though; she didn't feel like talking, particularly. She drank the coffee, which to her could have just been a paper cup full of hot water for all the good the caffeine did her, and held it in her hand, leeching out the last of its warmth. She hadn't realized she had started to drift off, leaning against Bard's shoulder, until he was urgently nudging her awake.

Dwalin was standing in front of them. She wondered, idly, in the back of her mind, if beards got bed head – because his certainly looked like it did. He wore an angry expression on his face, but it wasn't like any she'd seen him sporting before. It was quieter, softer, but no less potent.

“You'd best be going,” he said, with a heavy tone of finality in his voice.

Tauriel shook her head. “I want to stay,” she said, firmly.

“I know,” he replied, and Tauriel understood that he meant it. “But Thorin won't tolerate you here. Soon as he sees you, he won't see reason. You've done enough damage for today, lass.”

Tauriel felt her throat tighten, but it was Bard rising to his feet. “Careful, Dwalin,” he said, softly. “If you're so keen on avoiding a scene, then watch what you say.”

“Ever since she came along, there's been no end of trouble. Even you can see that.”

“Even me?” Bard repeated. “All I see are a bunch of stubborn idiots refusing to solve their own problems.”

“You uppity-”

“Dwalin, where have you been?”

Thorin. Tauriel put her hand on Bard's elbow and stood up, picking up her helmet. “Will you let me know if he's okay?” she asked him.

“Neither of you have any right to what goes on in that family,” Dwalin said, frankly, as Thorin stood there and looked at Tauriel like she was the most distasteful creature in the world.

He opened his mouth and said in the most darkest, guttural voice she'd ever heard, “ _Out_.”

“You don't have the authority to kick her out,” Bard hissed.

But Tauriel shook her keys from the helmet and put it on. “I'm going,” she said, securing the strap and already walking towards the exit. Her legs felt weak, her eyes gummy, her mouth dry. Behind her, she heard the argument start. Oh, Bard. If only she was good enough for him to actually defend; he was wasting his energy on her.

Outside, she got on her bike. The rain had finally stopped and water pooled in the streets. She cut waves through it as she drove home, feeling herself gradually falling apart.


	28. all apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil finally remembers his fatherly duties.

He hadn't expected her to forgive him, but he had thought she would at least communicate with him by now. She hadn't responded to any of his calls, or texts. Thranduil told himself not to worry. She was a grown woman, and she was obviously still angry at him for what he'd said. Well, he wasn't going to apologise. Yet.

So standing outside her apartment building should have been the last thing he was doing, yet there he was, looking up at her window as if he could will her to come into view. He'd waited for the rain to stop before heading out, so he had a clear and unimpeded view of her building. When he tried calling her again, on her cell and then on her landline, he thought he could hear the distinct ringing, even from several floors down.

He just needed to be sure.

Maybe she'd run away on him, leaving nothing behind. Dramatic, yes, but he wouldn't put that past her – she'd grown up alongside Legolas, after all. All he needed was a missing assistant on his hands; wouldn't that just send everything else about his life into a frenzy. He fished out his keys, located the spare key she'd given to him in case of emergencies, and let himself in the front door.

No elevator in this damn shoebox apartment, of course.

He walked up several flights of stairs, mind churning. He wanted to be angry, but he wasn't; simply concerned. He knew none of this was really her fault. He _knew_ that. And while Thranduil was proud, and stubborn, and thick-skinned, he was also very intelligent. Tauriel had said some unforgivable things but, then again, so had he. If she wanted to be mad at him she was well within her rights to be so.

It was only when he reached the landing and tried her door, noticing it was unlocked, that his concern turned into something else. He looked at the door. No signs of forced entry, no scratches on the lock. He carefully opened it, slowly, just in case. All of the lights were on. In the distance, he heard the sound of running water.

Tauriel taking a shower and leaving the front door unlocked was very, very unlike her. He stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him. “Tauriel?” he called, questioningly. There was no answer.

He made sure the door was locked behind him, then ventured further in. “Tauriel,” he called again, walking by the couch. That was when his gaze fell upon her green jacket – her favourite one – laying abandoned on the ground. There was an ugly, dark substance on it.

The place was too small for Thranduil to have to break into a run, but he would have charged out a window if it would have gotten him to the bathroom quickly. “Tauriel!” he shouted, slapping his palm roughly against the door to alert her. Her privacy was important, yes, but her safety and his peace of mind even more so. When there was no answer he opened the door.

Tauriel didn't have a bathtub; just a large, glassed in showering area. In the fog he could see her sitting in it. “It's me,” he said. She didn't budge. He walked in.

She was still in her clothes. Her long, red hair was plastered down over her face. She looked up at him, her eyes an ugly bloody colour, and Thranduil felt so terrified, and guilty, and sad, and angry, all at once. But she wasn't hurt, not that he could tell, and something tense in him relaxed.

“It's me,” he said again, as if she couldn't see him – then again, there was a glassy look to her eyes.

She looked down at the tiles. Carefully, Thranduil toed off his shoes and pushed them aside. Then, deliberately, he stepped into the shower and braced his hand against the wall, so he could sit down next to her. It didn't matter he was wearing a three thousand dollar, dry clean only suit. All that mattered was the fact that she was in distress.

“I'm sorry,” he said, though the apology felt insignificant, almost needless. Suddenly, the way he'd acted towards her was nothing, a mere blip in her radar. There was more to her life than him, and he realized that with a shock that was not unlike being doused in cold water. There were other things which dogged her steps. He was supposed to be a champion, a protector. Instead he'd pushed her off the edge and calmly watched her fall.

She didn't answer him back, just stared woodenly at the rivets of water flowing over the tiles. He could only hope that she had heard him; but he would say it as often as she needed to hear it, a thousand times if necessary.

He reached out and she pulled away, resisted, but for only a moment – and then she was pushing her face into his chest and shaking, horrible, ugly sobs wracking her whole body. In that moment she seemed so fragile to him, and his hold on her tightened, as if he could shield her from all of the nameless terrors that preyed on her. A part of him was relieved, but mostly he could feel his own heart shuddering.

They stayed like that, long after the hot water had run out, and she no longer had any tears to give. He didn't know what had happened, but in a way the details didn't matter. Because she was his responsibility, and always had been; he had just forgotten it, somehow. And he would need to make amends for that too.

It shouldn't have taken her distress to remind him how to be a father.

 

He had put her to bed, eventually. When she was just a toddler and her parents were gone, and she was having a sleepover with Legolas, he and his wife would kiss them both and tuck them in, flipping the blanket up so that it floated down over the both of them. Even after his wife had died, Thranduil had made sure to keep up the tradition. Why was it that, some time after they'd moved to a different house and no longer had the Forrests as neighbours, he'd decided he no longer needed to show Tauriel she was still part of the family like that?

Thranduil got her some dry towels and unearthed a fluffy robe for her, and by the time he had made her some tea she was already laying in bed, wrapped up in a big, sad cocoon of blankets, her eyes peering out at him like a baby animal.

She hadn't wanted to talk, possibly didn't have the strength to, so Thranduil brushed out her long, long hair, and carefully braided it. She fell asleep at some point while he was doing that, his fingers deftly picking through the strands and weaving them together. He passed his palm over her forehead, stroking a few strands back, and watched her sleep for a moment.

He was forced to steal some of his son's clothing in exchange for his soaked suit, so when Legolas finally came home at two in the morning smelling of gin and cigarettes he stopped in his tracks to see his father sitting on the couch, reading _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_.

“What are you doing?” Legolas asked.

“Reading fictionalized Gonzo journalism,” Thranduil replied. “Go see her, but don't wake her up.”

And then, of course, it didn't matter that his father was sitting there, wearing his clothes, completely out of character. Legolas rushed into the bedroom and there was silence for several long minutes. Thranduil looked at his book, staring at a single sentence, unable to read it no matter how hard he tried.

Eventually he heard soft murmuring, and then Legolas came out. He was clearly drunk, but not too badly; just enough to make him uncertain, less sure in his movements. “Do you know what happened?” he asked.

“Not a clue,” he said, and then pointed. He had hung Tauriel's stained jacket over the back of one of the chairs in the kitchen. “I just found that. But she's alright.”

“She asked me if Kíli was okay and I said I would check,” Legolas said, tightly.

His gaze drifted over to the jacket again. Legolas had pulled out his phone and was scrolling through his contacts, frowning to himself. “Huh,” he said. “I don't have anyone's... oh! Could you call Bard?”

“No,” Thranduil lied. “I accidentally took a shower with my phone.”

“I'll call Sigrid,” Legolas said, with a wave of his hand, before presumably pulling up his contacts list. “Kids never go to sleep, right?”

He came over and sat next to Thranduil, who pretended to go back to reading again. Sigrid's voice emanated from the speaker.

In the silence of the apartment, the entire conversation sounded quite clear. “Is Tauriel okay?” she exclaimed. “Oh my God. I tried calling but she didn't pick up.”

“Yeah, yeah, she's here, but she won't tell me anything,” Legolas said. “What happened?”

“Kíli was in a car accident and we were all here and then Thorin showed up and they kicked her out of the hospital, it was so terrible-”

“How's Kíli?”

“He broke a few bones and he has a concussion but he's okay. They'll take him home in the morning. It was just really awful. The car is, like, totalled. And Dad is pissed off, I thought he was going to hit Thorin, and now I don't know if I should go to work in the morning.”

“Aw, it's alright, kiddo,” Legolas said, gently. “You may as well go and see if it'll cause a fuss, and if it does, I don't know... ask to leave, I'm sure they'll get it. Or you can have a really epic quitting scene. We can get you a cool new summer job.”

“Legolas, be serious.”

“Alright, okay,” he said, while Thranduil snorted. “I'd ask your dad what he thinks, he seems pretty logical. He really almost punched Thorin, though?”

“He might have. I'd never seen him look at anyone like that. Ever.”

They continued to chat for a bit more, giving Thranduil a good idea of what had happened – Kíli had crashed the car during the rainstorm, Tauriel had gone to see him at the hospital, and she'd been rather rudely ejected from it once the relatives showed up. There was also an assumption that the crash was Tauriel's fault. Thranduil doubted that, but he did think his command that she break up with Kíli might have played a part in what had occurred.

When Legolas hung up, Thranduil spoke before his son could. “Tauriel said some things to me, yesterday,” he said. “So I said some things back.”

“She mentioned it.”

He heard a twinge of coldness in his son's voice for the first time, but that was not surprising. He was sure that now that they had solved a few mysteries, Legolas had remembered he was angry with him. It hurt, but it was justified. “The things I said weren't true,” he said, quietly.

“Does Tauriel know that?”

“She will.”

“She better,” his son replied, lightly. That was when Thranduil realized his son must not have just been angry, but furious. He put his hand on Legolas' shoulder, and Legolas started, not expecting the touch.

“I'm not a very good father,” he stated.

Legolas looked forward, blinking a bit. “You used to be, though,” he said. “You used to be a really good dad.”

“Was I?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm starting to think I might have ruined the both of you,” he said, lightly, because he wasn't sure he wanted Legolas' opinion on that thought but needed to voice it nonetheless. “You might have been better off with someone else calling the shots. Once you were both older, anyway.”

“Dad,” Legolas said, soothingly. “Come on. Don't worry. You did a great job.”

“I did?”

His son nodded, solemnly. “On _her_ , anyway,” he said, so straight-faced that for a moment Thranduil didn't realize he was playing around. “Come on, let's go keep an eye on her,” he said, standing up. “She might decide now is a great time to be dramatic and jump out a window.”

They found Tauriel rolled up in blankets in the middle of her bed, still very unconscious. The two of them sat on the bed on either side of her, as if to pen her in and stop her from escaping. Quite to his surprise, Thranduil fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's all been so dramatic lately! We've got another woobie-filled chapter coming up, and then hopefully there will be some light-hearted chapters to take the edge off for a bit. I just can't resist my Greenleafs and their drama. My whole plan for Thranduil throughout this story was him going back to being a decent father, and we're nearing the end of that evolution. And then it'll just be wrapping up Bard's ;) I certainly haven't forgotten about him! (Or Bilbo and Thorin, if you must know).


	29. greenleaf family love-in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for anyone not aware, the term 'love-in' was used for people having peaceful public gatherings by hanging around, playing music, doing drugs and generally having a grand old time. You'll see that naturally I couldn't resist naming this chapter after that, teehee.

Tauriel woke up incredibly disoriented. First, her whole body ached, like it had been through huge physical duress. Her head was pounding and her eyes burned, her throat felt sore. _I'm dying_ , she thought to herself. _That's the only possible answer._

She couldn't remember a thing.

She looked beside her and saw long, gleaming blonde hair in the muffled morning light of her bedroom. Legolas.

But then she looked to her other side and saw, again, long pale hair. She blinked groggily. The body to her left stirred and rolled over, and it was Legolas, peering carefully at her. “Hey dad,” he said, reaching over her and prodding Thranduil. “Dad, she's awake.”

Thranduil mumbled and didn't budge.

Tauriel closed her eyes to rest them and think about everything, try to remember what had happened.

She must have fallen asleep again, because when she opened her eyes this time her bedroom was much brighter, she was laying on her side and Legolas was sitting up and messing around on her iPad. “What are you doing?” she asked, softly.

“Beating all of your scores on Angry Birds,” he replied. “And watching you and dad snuggle. It's really cute. I always knew you were his precious cinnamon roll.”

“You're both my precious cinnamon rolls,” Thranduil mumbled, so groggily Tauriel felt she must have misheard. “We discussed this last night.”

She looked over her shoulder to see him laying face down, most of his face hidden by a pillow and his hair. Her back was pressed securely against his shoulder and the side of his body, like she'd gravitated towards him at some point. She wouldn't have been surprised if that was the case. She remembered how he'd picked her up out of the shower last night like she was no more than a kitten, and she'd fallen asleep knowing that someone was taking care of her, and it was alright to rest.

Distantly, she wasn't surprised; she'd always known he and Legolas were there for her. But when it came to Thranduil it had been more like a religious belief, something she trusted without a large amount of proof. There were very few instances in her life where her belief was verified, and was so rare sometimes she doubted they even existed, or was convinced she made them more important than they were. And it was harder to believe in it after the last few weeks.

Now she was certain she was right all along, and her throat choked up. “Kíli?” she whispered.

“He's fine,” Thranduil murmured. “He ought to be home by now. Do you want to go see him?”

The very offer was enough to throw her off guard, but so was the fact that underneath her wave of relief, there was also fear. “I can't,” she said, and then, much to her embarrassment, she started to cry again.

“Aw, Tauriel,” Legolas said, his voice tense. But Thranduil simply shifted and put his arm around her and she rolled over, pressing her face into his shoulder and producing ugly, hiccoughing sobs until she'd fallen asleep again.

The third time she woke up, she felt more like herself – such as the awareness of her internal body clock. “Oh my God, what time is it?” she explained, shooting upright in bed. “I- we're late! Are we late?”

“Calm down,” Thranduil said, wearily. “I told them there was a family emergency. Be careful, you almost hit my chin.”

Tauriel settled back down, abashed. Legolas was still on her left, unperturbed. He patted her on the head. “It's cool, your boss is lenient,” he said.

“What about you? Don't you have a class today?”

“What, and miss the limited edition Greenleaf Family Love-in? I got someone to cover for me. This might be super weird for some people, but I'm loving it. I couldn't even sleep.”

“Good, because you elbow people in your sleep,” Thranduil said.

“Since when?”

“Forever?” Tauriel suggested.

“Since age eleven, I should say,” Thranduil said. He sat up with a bit of a groan, cracking his shoulder, and muttering something that sounded a lot like 'awful mattress' under his breath. “Watch her,” he ordered, making a vague motion that managed to include her, Legolas, and the entire room. “Don't let her do anything dramatic.”

“Where are you going?” Legolas asked.

“I'm ordering breakfast. You want Chinese, right, Tauriel?” he asked without looking up, busying himself with checking messages on his phone. “This is a Chinese for breakfast morning, right?”

“ _How does he know_?” Tauriel asked once he'd gone, rolling over and snuggling up to Legolas, propping her chin on his stomach. He rubbed the back of her neck, soothingly, but he was staring out after his father, almost suspiciously, as if he'd never seen the man on the phone before.

“He knows everything,” he sighed. “That's what makes him so evil.”

“Know what this love-in was really missing?”

“What?”

“Psychedelic drugs.”

 

Getting out of bed was difficult. It seemed like all of the emotional tension she had been feeling had manifested physically in her whole body, wringing her out, and now it was hard to move her limbs and actually get anywhere. Legolas helped her to pick out some clothing, locating a dress loose enough that she wasn't going to feel strangled by it. Just then the idea of putting on any of her form-fitting clothing made her shudder.

Thranduil was on the phone, sounding quite mild and unbothered, which was always a good sign. The food had arrived and after settling her on the living room couch Legolas busily heaped her plate up with a mound of food that had no business being eaten for breakfast while sober, yet there it was. Chinese was one of her ultimate comfort foods, and she felt like she definitely needed it, so much so that she didn't even protest the amount of food Legolas was going to force her to eat.

After a few spring rolls and some stir fried noodles she did feel better. “You're getting colour in your face again,” Thranduil said quite randomly, putting his hand on top of her head for a moment as he walked by the couch. “Good.”

“Yeah, 'dead' looks really bad on you,” Legolas stated. She scowled. “So I've been talking to Sigrid,” he continued, while she shovelled fried rice in her mouth. “Kíli's doing pretty good. I guess there's some concern he won't be able to draw for a bit since he busted up his arm, but otherwise nothing really serious was damaged. I guess those Durinsons are hardy.”

Tauriel nodded as she chewed, not trusting herself to speak. “So,” he said, looking over at Thranduil, who had hung up and was leaning against the living room wall, inspecting some of the potted flowers along the windowsill, “When is that party thing you're supposed to go to, again?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered. “But I'm not going.”

Tauriel hurriedly swallowed. “Oh!” she exclaimed, startling the two men. “You have to! It's one of the biggest networking events of the year!”

“I don't need to network.”

“Everyone needs to network.”

“I'm not going to some damn party when you're this way.”

She narrowed her eyes, feeling a little spark. “What way?” she repeated. But Legolas just started laughing.

“No more fighting,” he said. “Come on, Tauriel, dad's just trying to prioritize you first. Anyway, I only asked because I think we should all go. You know, together.”

Thranduil and Tauriel both stared at him.

“What?”

“Are you joking?”

“Tauriel needs to rest.”

“I'm fine. But-”

“Listen, if we're supposed to be a family unit, and I'm pretty sure we _are_ , we need to start acting like it,” Legolas explained, patiently. “All of us. I mean, we aren't perfect. I'm incorrigible, dad's a tyrant, and Tauriel is some sort of rebel mutant. But if dad doesn't show up, the gossip is going to go crazy. If Tauriel doesn't show up, we'll look weak. If we all show up, it looks cohesive. Greenleaf Acquisitions needs to represent strength and unity, and I'll actually put on a suit and be on my best behaviour if it's going to help you two out.”

“Legolas-”

“I'll go,” Tauriel said, suddenly. It made sense. And if she went, then Thranduil would be forced to bow to pressure. As one, she and Legolas stared him down. She could practically see him relent.

“Fine,” he said. “I'll go to the office later today and sort things out. We'll head in tomorrow night. But I still want Tauriel to take another sick day tomorrow afternoon.”

She harrumphed, and ate some battered chicken covered in red sauce. Legolas chuckled and stood up, saying something about going to find a new shirt since 'this one smells like Tauriel's tears'. “I have something for you,” she said, finally, looking over at Thranduil.

“Oh?”

Tauriel was silent for a moment. She'd written it in anger, of course, as a way of severing herself from him, but now she saw it as a peace offering and hoped he would understand it as such. She took out her wallet and produced a cheque, holding it out to him.

Thranduil took it and looked at it. His brows drew together. “What is this?” he asked. “Besides the obvious, a cheque.”

“It's the money I owe you.”

“What money?”

“For school.” There was a touch of exasperation in her voice, now.

Thranduil looked at her, then back at the cheque, confused. Then something seemed to dawn on him, slowly. “Tauriel,” he said, sounding for a moment completely aghast. “Is this why you live in an apartment the size of a chicken coop?”

She'd been expecting a lot of replies, but not that. “Um, what?”

“Dad,” Legolas said, in a voice-of-reason tone from somewhere in the vicinity of the bedroom. “You've never seen a chicken coop probably, how do you know how big they are?”

“Tauriel, is this the reason you live in an apartment the size of a Smart car?” Thranduil corrected. “I thought you were just trying to be quaint or bohemian or whatever it is, not because you've been living off pennies you're picking up off the sidewalk.”

“I like this apartment.”

“It's a cardboard box!” Thranduil exclaimed. “I've seen refrigerators bigger than this.” And just like that, he ripped up the cheque, shaking his head. “Tauriel, darling, I salute your ability to save, but you've no need to live below your means like this. What you need is a nice studio apartment. Haven't you always liked big open spaces?”

The conversation was getting out of hand. Her cheeks felt hot. _And he'd ripped up the cheque_. “No!” she said. “Don't rip it up! That's all for you!”

“What makes you think I need it back?” he asked.

“It's the principle of the thing. I just...”

“Tauriel, _one_ of you had to go to university,” he said, thumbing in Legolas' direction. “But believe me, I had more than enough for the both of you set aside for that eventuality. But speaking of that, you can't just leave money like that laying around in a bank. You should invest some of it. _I_ know. I'll talk to some people. You don't need the extra responsibility of part ownership but it's about time you started organizing a proper portfolio. I know a few good startups that you might be interested in.”

“Um,” Tauriel said. “I... okay.”

“And you should start looking for a bigger place, especially if Legolas insists on rooming with you. When is your lease up? We can start viewings sometime before that. If there's a place you really like before then, though, just let me know. And I'll call Sheryl at the office. You know she was top of her Finance class?” He had his phone out, scrolling through apps. “I'll just make a memo about this. Hm. Alright.” He put the phone to his ear, apparently calling someone, and nodded down at Tauriel's plate full of Chinese. “Eat your food,” he instructed, before drifting off, talking away on whoever was on the phone.

Legolas wandered back into the kitchen and plopped down on the chair beside her. He picked up a piece of the ripped check, and nodded. “ _Told_ you so,” he said. “Now do as dad says. You're going to need your strength for that stupid gala.”


	30. the local entrepreneur's gathering

Legolas was enjoying himself immensely, even with the tux. It had been quite a rush job to get something properly fitted that Thranduil felt was suitable for the occasion. They couldn't do a custom job, but an altered designer piece would just have to do. That's what Thranduil had said, anyway, pushing Legolas rather forcefully inside one of those exceedingly expensive shops downtown. Legolas wasn't stupid and was aware his father was going through something rough, so he just shrugged and did as he was told.

It was so much easier for Tauriel; she'd bought her dress weeks before and it wore like a dream. It was a silky, luscious dress that moved around her as if she were underwater, and coloured an iridescent blue. “You look ridiculously good,” he said, eyeballing her suspiciously when she emerged from the bathroom. She was giving him the same look.

“You look too attractive in a tux,” she said. “It's weirding me out. Stop it.”

“You stop it.”

“ _You_ stop it.”

“I'll stop it if you stop it.”

She rolled her eyes and went about trying to see if she could fit her phone and lipstick and wallet in her tiny purse. It was sequined and glimmering and looked like it used to belong to a mermaid; maybe it had and Tauriel had clubbed her over the head for it.

Legolas had purposefully not eaten a thing all day, and neither had she. The best part about these sorts of events – besides the free liquor – was the food, and they didn't have the mentality Thranduil had, which was that good food was as easy to come by as cheap coffee. No, Legolas and Tauriel were still, mentally, broke kids in their twenties, and free gourmet food had to be enjoyed to its fullest extent, stomachaches be damned.

They climbed into Thranduil's car – quite literally, since the back seat was only accessible by pulling the passenger seat forward. Tonight was not a night to put the convertible roof down, not when hair and clothing needed to be kept pristine. “Can't believe you're driving, dad,” Legolas said. “If I were you, I'd be getting sloshed and taking a cab home.”

“Well, I need to maintain some decorum, don't I?”

“Boring.”

“Just don't throw up on anyone, okay?” Tauriel said, pulling out her phone and looking at it. She was doing that a lot. Apparently Bard had texted her as many updates about Kíli as he could, but it still wasn't enough for her. After her breakdown she was back to looking almost normal, but Legolas suspected makeup was involved with that.

Despite how he acted, Legolas knew his way around a fancy party. Before he'd shrugged off the family business for good he'd experienced more than his fair share – part of the reason why he now had little to do with them in the first place. But supporting his father and Tauriel trumped his dislike of fancy rich people. Besides, this was a gathering of local entrepreneurs, not the usual crowd of bigwigs, so while it was fancy there was still going to be a large amount of people who were just hardworking individuals. From what Tauriel said, Thranduil often took this opportunity to speak to _them_ , rather than rub elbows with people running larger organizations.

That meant they were likely to run into Thorin Oakenshield and associates, but they would deal with that (Thranduil said) when the time came.

Legolas put minimum effort into his reputation, but it was nonetheless very effective. He didn't have to try hard for people like his father to not take him seriously. An idle comment there, a shrug here – it all added up quite easily for him. In truth, he was sharp, like his father and mother had been. But it was easier for people to believe the apple had fallen far from the tree than to consider the fact that even smart people sometimes treasured happiness and adventure over financial stability and a set path in life.

He was aware of the double-looks he got, but he simply let Tauriel hang onto his elbow and enjoyed the free champagne.

It was actually rather pleasant, because eventually he got to speak to Cheryl, the woman who ran the tattoo shop next to the yoga studio he worked at (and he got to speak to his yoga boss there, too, who was beside herself in shock when she finally discovered who his father was).

“Planning on getting a tattoo?” Cheryl asked. Her arms were immaculately inked in a scene of a rainforest, with jewel-toned frogs so realistic they were practically glistening on her skin.

“Nope,” Legolas answered with a roguish smile, taking a long drink of champagne. “Just really like women who have them. It is the _best_ part about my job, being next door to that.”

“Aren't you charming,” Cheryl replied, dryly, before being distracted by something over Legolas' shoulder.

At some point in the night he had lost track of Tauriel, which wasn't very concerning. First off, she was a fully-grown woman capable of taking care of herself. Secondly, she was technically there as Thranduil's aide (she _had_ quit, of course, but neither Tauriel nor his dad were inclined to bring that up, meaning they were sweeping it under the rug for the moment) so she needed to be available for that.

Now, though, it was quite clear where she'd gone. Legolas turned on his heel just in time to see her standing by the dessert table, slowly pouring a full glass of something amber-coloured – probably whisky, knowing Tauriel – over a man's head.

Bolg. That asshole had been needling Tauriel for as long as she'd worked at Greenleaf Acquisitions. Tauriel had spoken time and time again of his behaviour, which went from unwanted flirtation and, every now and then, physical contact such as brushing her arm or touching her hair when he was being bold. His father ran a business as thriving and successful as Thranduil's, and he was set to inherit it. He and his father were decidedly conservative, and disliked Thranduil's dandyish style and the fact his strong right hand was a woman.

Of course, despite Tauriel's dislike of Bolg, she was still calm and cool about the whole thing. She told Legolas that Thranduil always intervened before anything untoward happened and, really, this was something she expected from men who disliked her authority. Unfortunately, people harassing Tauriel in this manner was not uncommon in her line of work.

He could really only imagine what Bolg had said to bring this out in Tauriel. Maybe it was because she'd had a rough week. Maybe it was because she'd had enough of people pushing her around. Or maybe – and this was the likeliest answer – she just decided now was a great time to put Bolg in his place.

Of course, that rather torpedoed Legolas' plan that they could form a united and stable front as a family of respectable entrepreneurs, but hey, these things happened.

The moment the last drop of liquid separated from the rim of Tauriel's glass, Bolg's father Azog came running up, looking livid.

“What do you think you're doing!” he snarled at her, while his son sputtered. “You disrespectful little tart! How _dare_ you!”

Tauriel's face was a mask of stone. She lowered the glass, looked around. A butler came up to her, offering his empty tray. She placed the glass on it. “Thank you,” she said to him. “Can I get another one?”

Azog looked furious. Legolas cleared his throat. “Um, excuse me,” he said, quietly, handing off his champagne glass and planning on sidling over to Tauriel. He was saved from having to do so by Thranduil manifesting out of nowhere, hands held up placatingly and a glorious smile on his face.

“Azog, how are you?” he asked, warmly, in the tones of a man who knew for a fact everyone was watching them. “What a spill! These things happen, don't they?”

“Your assistant needs a leash!” Azog growled, putting a consoling hand on his son's shoulder. “Tell her to apologise immediately!”

“Well, unfortunately that's not part of her job description?” Thranduil asked, his smile not slipping. “I mean, she can apologise _for me_ , but apologies for her own actions have to come from her or _her_ assistant, should she ever get one. I hope you understand. I can ask her, though. Tauriel? Will you apologise?”

“Nope,” Tauriel said, already drinking a new glass of whisky, and eating what seemed to be a brownie from the dessert table.

“There it is, I'm afraid.”

“Well,” Azog said, gathering himself together, as if he were a bird who had angrily fluffed its feathers and was now smoothing them down, but was no less disgruntled. “I see that your ability to control your brood is waning by the month. Are those whispers of her seducing the Lonely Mountain heirs true?”

Thranduil was still smiling, but since Legolas was his son, he knew for a fact it spelt danger. “Now, Azog,” he said, in a voice of complete understanding. “I know you're unhappy that your son can't find a good woman, but jealousy doesn't become you. Tauriel doesn't fraternize with the ugly _or_ the idiotic, so I'm afraid that's a merger we'll never have the pleasure of working on together.”

Tauriel snorted into her drink, Bolg scowled, but Azog just narrowed his eyes. After a moment, though, he grinned with sharp-looking teeth.

“You might be successful,” he said, “but at least my son obeys me. Tauriel is nothing but a useless slut, your son is addled and a waste of skin, and you can't even get a company like Lonely Mountain to accept your money even when you're selling _her_ body to sweeten the deal.”

Tauriel's arm raised but Thranduil caught her wrist in his hand and firmly shook his head. Bedgrudgingly she lowered it.

Azog looked smug. “Well, that's a method that always works-” he began. The rest of his sentence ended in a wet-sounding thump, because Thranduil suddenly smashed his fist into the man's nose.

“Oh my God!” Cheryl exclaimed, laughing.

“I know, right?” Legolas said, already starting to rush towards the bar. “This is better than reality television!”

 

When Legolas had circled his way around the hotel to the front, he found Thranduil rushing down the front steps, holding Tauriel's hand, both of them gazing frantically around them. Probably evading security and also hoping the valet hurried the fuck up with the car.

“Legolas!” Tauriel shouted. “There you are! Where have you been?”

Legolas hefted up the crate in his arms. Knowing what was about to happen, he'd been quick to act. “Look!” he said. “I stole it!”

His father looked at him like he was insane. “Legolas!” he shouted. “We are respectable people! We don't steal champagne!”

“But it's Veuve Clicquot!”

Thranduil blinked. “Okay, put it in the trunk,” he said, as the valet pulled the car up. “I hope you tipped the staff.”

“I gave the bartender a hundred bucks.”

“Good.”


	31. the decoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas hatches a plot.

It was a beautiful morning, Bilbo could tell. The sun streaming through the gap in the curtains was buttery-looking, and brought out the red and golden glints in Thorin's hair. Bilbo pressed his face into it and took a deep breath, and Thorin murmured softly, starting to wake. They never used alarm clocks; they always woke at the same time, every day. In stages, of course, owing to Bilbo's early rising to bake at the cafe, but together nonetheless.

There had been much disagreement between them, over the past week or two. Bilbo thought Thorin's stance against Tauriel was completely wrong, and he wasn't afraid to say it. Thorin was convinced that even if Bilbo was correct, the best course of action would be to nip the flowering romance in the bud. It had brought a lot of tension to the household.

They both had a rule, though; they never separated when they were fighting. There was no escaping to their separate rooms at Lonely Mountain or the Shire, no avoiding one another. They had dinner together. They slept in the same bed. When it came to discord, they had to work through it together, or it would never be solved.

Bilbo was starting to see some solution in sight. Not right away, but things were rarely sudden with Thorin. He was deliberate, his decisions sound and well thought-over – once he was convinced to think about them, anyway.

Thorin had been beside himself when he had found Tauriel in the ER. But after they had brought Kíli home, Bilbo had caught him gloomilystaring out the window into the backyard. “Is everything alright?” Bilbo had asked, worried.

Thorin had looked at him. “I was sure she didn't love him,” he'd said. And while Thorin was stubborn and thick-headed at times, he rarely doubted what was before his own eyes. “And then I saw her face.”

But things, of course, could not be so simple.

Pressing himself firmly against the warm body he shared his bed with, Bilbo sighed. “I wonder what on earth has gotten into Thranduil?” he asked against Thorin's ear, and the man chuckled, a deep sound that reverberated through them both.

“I'm not sure, but I kind of like it.”

The two of them had arrived just in time to see the Greenleafs leaving in a hurry, Thranduil leading Tauriel out – him looking irritated, her looking wickedly amused. Gossip was they'd also made off with a crate of champagne during the getaway. Bilbo wasn't sure what any of this would do to them – when it came to big business he didn't care to concern himself with much of anything except for keeping an eye out on whether or not a Starbucks was going to open up beside the Shire.

Since Thorin heartily disliked Azog and his offspring, though, he'd spent the rest of the gala looking smug. “I'm just happy someone finally hit that rat bastard,” he'd said to someone else at the gala, polishing off a martini with gusto. “He needs a lesson in respect, even from someone like Greenleaf.”

This morning Bilbo was still feeling the effects of overindulgence, in more than one sense of the word. His hands wandered over Thorin's shoulders and then down over his bicep until Thorin finally rolled over, wrapping his arms around Bilbo and hugging him close. Through their disagreements and their issues, Thorin never ceased to hold him like that, and it always helped Bilbo to remember that despite it all this was a man he could always trust. And that was worth more than almost anything else.

“Maybe you should take the morning off,” Thorin suggested, his voice low, but Bilbo just laughed even though the tone sent a warm feeling fluttering through his stomach.

“I _am_ ,” he reminded him.

“You know what I mean. Mornings for normal people, not bakers.”

“Alas, I need to do all the fiddly icing,” Bilbo said, kissing the bridge of Thorin's nose. “Come on, let me make you breakfast.”

“Mmmn. Shower first.”

 

It _had_ been a beautiful morning. Thorin had convinced Bilbo not to show his face at the Shire until noon, sending Fíli off in his stead. Bilbo had cooked a large fry-up for breakfast, which had helped to make Fíli more easily persuaded in the earlier hours. But once he was gone and a plate of breakfast had been given to Kíli (who was, all things considered, recovering quite well, though the forced bed rest while he overcame his concussion was driving him a bit insane) a phone call from Lonely Mountain sent Thorin into a rush.

“What is it?” Bilbo asked, in the middle of pouring the both of them their second cup of coffee.

“I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it last night,” Thorin grunted, throwing on his jacket. “But Greenleaf's on a public meltdown, apparently. Bifur just called and apparently he's running amok in the brewery.”

“What!” Bilbo exclaimed. “That's insane!”

“Tell me about it.” He kissed Bilbo hurriedly. “We'll have our second cup later,” he promised, already halfway out the door.

Bilbo sighed. Now he was alone, save for Kíli in the basement. Well, Kíli had recovered enough that he could watch television now and read a bit, so perhaps he would like to watch a movie with Bilbo before he headed to the Shire. He went upstairs to brush his teeth, and when he went back down and returned to the kitchen to tidy up he found Thranduil Greenleaf himself sitting at the kitchen table.

The man stood up. “Mr Baggins,” he said, in the most pleasant voice Bilbo had ever heard, holding out his hand in introduction. “I was wondering if you might spare a bit of time for me. I've _dearly_ wanted to chat.”

After a beat, during which Bilbo stood staring at the intruder with wide eyes, he snapped back into motion. “What are you _doing_ here?” he exclaimed. “You're- you're at the brewery!”

“Am I?” Thranduil asked, with a small, close-lipped smile. “You know, my son and I look _quite_ alike, especially in a suit.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, the realization dawning on him. “ _No_.”

“We needed a way to get Thorin out of the house and really, I can't go around acting like a lunatic – more than I already do,” he corrected. “The news outlets would just love that. My son came up with the idea, actually. Everyone expects _him_ to act madcap, so when this is all over presumably the business won't be too tarnished. He's quite the tactician, you know. The military is really missing out. Granted he was two bottles of champagne in when he came up with the plan and it does have a rather drunken style to it, but it certainly seems to have done the trick.”

“So you had Thorin leave and then you- broke in?”

“No, Tauriel did,” Thranduil said. “I mean, I can't go around breaking into people's houses either. I _did_ give her a boost over the fence, though. Anyway, walking through an unlocked door to say hello is hardly a crime between friends, right?”

“And Tauriel is?”

“Downstairs, of course. I had to help soothe her distress and that involved checking in on the object of her affection,” and then Thranduil leaned forward, a small, conspiratorial smile on his face. “You understand, don't you?”

Thorin would have shouted. Dwalin might have thrown something in his face. Bilbo simply asked if his guest would like a cup of coffee and perhaps some leftover hashbrowns, which he did, and they spent a very pleasant hour together discussing the whims of young love.

Bilbo had never met Thranduil before, but after five minutes he was utterly enamoured. He could see why Thorin disliked him so much.

They knocked on the door to the basement to warn Tauriel and Kíli ahead of time, but when they went downstairs it was clear neither of them had heard a thing. Kíli's bedroom door was open. Tauriel was stretched out beside him on the bed, the both of them deep in conversation. She really was a lovely looking creature, but she had always been a remote beauty, untouchable, like a glacier. Now she was present, warm and alive. She stroked at Kíli's unshaven cheek and teased him about how he was turning into a hobo.

As one, Thranduil and Bilbo crept back up the stairs without disturbing them and back into the kitchen. “So what are we going to do about them?” Bilbo asked, pulling out some scones.

“I'm not sure, what do you think?”

“Yes, Bilbo,” came a low voice. “What do you think?”

Thorin was back.

Thranduil visibly flinched as the other man entered the kitchen, but Bilbo didn't waver. “Back for that second cup, Thorin?” he asked, fondly.

“What's he doing here, Bilbo?”

“We had rather a nice chat, actually,” Bilbo explained. “So please, before you leap into a tantrum, do try to-”

“ _Tantrum_!” Thorin exclaimed. “I will not tolerate the presence of a man whose company is-”

“Lifting its ban on stocking your product?” Bilbo asked. Thorin stuttered to a stop, and then turned, glaring at Thranduil, obviously expecting some evil plan to be in the works.

But Thranduil just shrugged. “I'm prepared to back off. Your brewery is minuscule, Mister Oakenshield,” he said, calmly.

“Why you-”

“And not worth jeopardizing my children over,” he finished, firmly. “I am proud to consider Tauriel my daughter, and I can't expect her to bend to my whim anymore. Not if I raised her correctly. I know you haven't any children of your own, but surely you can see the wisdom in that. Mr Baggins can.”

Thorin looked at Bilbo, who shrugged. Anyone else might have been uncertain, nervous, even afraid. Thranduil certainly looked as if he was wondering if he needed to make a run for the door. But Bilbo knew Thorin, trusted in him. So he wasn't surprised when Thorin looked at him and gave him the smallest of nods.

“Mr Greenleaf,” he said, calmly, and that even tone of voice seemed to startle Thranduil more than anything else had so far, which made a tiny little smirk float around on Thorin's lips. “I think we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got Thranduil and Bilbo together in the same room (!!!) which I've been wanting to do for ages, mostly because one of my favourite parts in the novel was Bilbo's high esteem for Thranduil during and after the battle. I figure in the translation to a modern AU that means they would clearly both be wonderful dandyish manfriends, regardless of what Thorin thinks of the matter at the current moment. Also I totally think that doing a crazy distraction and then breaking and entering is a very gentleman thief/Bilbo thing to do, so obviously he and Thranduil have a lot in common re: madcap scenes.  
> Also, you might notice - we have a clear chapter count now. We are definitely in the final stages and soon everything will be wrapped up. Thanks for sticking around so long!


	32. some developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigrid gives Bard a talking-to, and they go see how Kíli is doing.

It was a really awful few days, and after trying to be supportive of Sigrid, dealing with Alfrid, and texting Tauriel, Bard was forced to admit the truth.

He really missed Thranduil.

It had been remarkably easy to break up with the man, and yet... and yet, Bard couldn't shake away the feelings that were lingering. He felt lonely. How had he ever gone on before without having Thranduil to spend time with, to talk to? He even found himself checking his phone for messages when he knew Thranduil was no longer texting him.

He thought he might see the man during a delivery, but apparently both he and Tauriel had taken the day off. What would happen when they finally came across each other?

Probably nothing. Thranduil had been surprised, but very cool and calm when Bard proposed they end things. They'd parted ways cordially. Despite that, though, Bard had a feeling things were not what they seemed.

And now that Kíli had been in a crash and everyone was in an uproar, Bard had just about had enough of drama. To distract himself, once he got home from the day's work he had decided to make lasagne, which was an annoying and finicky dish for him, but one of Sigrid's favourites. He put it in the oven and set a timer just in case he fell asleep when he went to lay down on the couch. Which, of course, he did.

“Da.”

He opened his eyes. Sigrid was leaning over him, two full plates in her hands. He huffed in surprise and pulled himself upright with difficulty. “What time is it?” he asked.

“Almost eight.” She was frowning. “Are you sleeping alright at night, da? You're napping a lot during the day.”

“Just feeling a bit run down, love.”

“Are you getting sick?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

Her lips thinned. But she handed him the plate and they moved to sit down at the dinner table to eat. He even let her have a few sips of his beer (and was very pleased when she wrinkled her nose in distaste). She buttered bread and gave him an update on how Kíli was doing; it was lonely at the cafe without him, apparently, and he was always on her mind. “I'm going to bake him some cookies,” she decided. “And take them to him on my day off. What do you think?”

“It sounds like a good idea to me.”

“You should come with me.”

“Maybe. Everyone over there is pretty angry with me right now, though.”

Sigrid nibbled on a crust of bread. “Da,” she said, carefully, after a moment. “You _aren't_ in love with Tauriel, right?”

The question surprised him, if only because they'd gone over it before. “No,” he said. “Why?”

“You're acting kind of weird, lately.”

“I'm just a little under the weather, Sigrid.”

“No, it's not just that,” she said. “You seem different. You seem like...”

“Yes?”

“Like I did, after Charlie.”

It took a moment for it to dawn on Bard, what Sigrid was suggesting. He was aghast – mostly because she was right. When he didn't say anything she continued, albeit hesitantly. “Have you been seeing someone, da? Is that what you've been doing in the evenings?”

Bard had never intended _not_ to tell Sigrid, but he'd never considered telling her, either. As far as he was concerned, his fling with Thranduil had been just that – a fling. A pleasant diversion in the evenings. It wasn't like he'd planned on taking the man home to meet his children at any point.

“Yes,” he said.

“I figured,” she said. She had a tiny frown lingering around her mouth, and he knew he would have to tread carefully.

He took a sip of his beer. “Is that alright, Sigrid?” he asked.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“It wasn't serious.”

“Well, I mean,” Sigrid said, pushing a piece of lasagna around on her plate with her fork. “I still would have wanted to know. I'm interested in your life, da.”

Bard laughed lightly. “You are the sweetest girl in the world,” he said, getting up from the table to go get another beer. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Da, come on!”

He sighed.

“I'm sorry, Sigrid,” he said. “It wasn't important.”

“Well, you're acting like it was.”

He gave her a look which, he knew, was alarmingly close to a pout. Sigrid, though, did not relent. “I get worried about you,” she said. “And I know... you're my dad, and I'm your daughter, and we don't have to talk about _everything_. But I want you to get out more and have a life that doesn't revolve around me and I guess I'm just concerned that you'd hide it and if you were what that means about me...”

“I didn't mean to hide it, sweetheart,” he assured her. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, who was she?”

And that, naturally, was the question he'd wanted to avoid most. He paused. There were all sorts of ways he could answer that question. Unfortunately, he couldn't think of any but one. “It was a he, actually.”

Sigrid paused. He studied her face and found nothing there. “Oh,” she said, eating her last bite of lasagne. “I see.”

“Is that alright?”

“Da, how would _you_ feel if I told you that I think I like girls and want to date them?” she asked. “Seriously.”

Because she asked him to, Bard _did_ stop to think about it. He had to be honest with her. “Well,” he said, slowly. “I'd be surprised. I'd wonder maybe you're going through a phase. But I would be more concerned about whether or not it was making you happy.”

“Okay,” Sigrid said, nodding. “So. How do you think I feel about you dating a man?”

He looked at her, with her eyebrows raised. God, she really did look just like her mother. “The same,” he said, ruefully.

“Right,” she said, brusquely. “Don't keep anything from me, da, okay? I'm smarter than you think.”

He smiled. “Darling,” he said, dropping another kiss to the top of her head. “You are just as smart as I think you are, trust me.”

“So? Did he make you happy?”

“For a time.”

“Maybe he stopped making you happy once you stopped letting him,” she said, getting up from the table and gathering the plates. He gaped at her as she sashayed off to wash up.

 

Bard didn't really think he should be there, but Sigrid had been insistent. “You want to know how Kíli's doing, right?” she'd asked. And she certainly had him there.

In any case, Thorin ought to be at the brewery by now, and he had no problems with Bilbo. In fact, Bard was looking forward to seeing his friend and talking out a few things with him. Sigrid arranged her container of cookies under her arm as she got out of the car, leaning her head back for a moment to bask in the sunlight. Bard just smiled at her. “What?” she asked, catching his look.

“You're getting so beautiful, every day,” he said, proudly. She blushed and ducked away from the hand he had moved to rub over the back of her neck.

“ _Staaaawp_ ,” she said.

“Well, you are.”

“No, dads are just supposed to say that.”

“It happens to be true.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and marched purposefully towards the front steps. Chuckling, he followed.

Thorin Oakenshield met them at the door.

For a moment, Bard was rather tongue-tied. But thank goodness for Sigrid, who simply asked, very politely, “Hello, is Kíli home right now?” In that moment, he felt like his daughter could have faced down an axe-wielding maniac and still kept her cool.

Thorin's eyes were fixed on Bard, but he nodded and answered her. “He certainly is,” he said, stepping aside to let them both in. “You may as well head downstairs. That's where everyone is.”

Well, that sounded curious. In the entryway they all toed off their shoes. Sigrid politely asked Thorin how his day was going, and he grunted and said 'well, interesting.' Bard wondered where Bilbo was.

That question was answered as soon as they went downstairs, but it left a lot more questions in its place. For one, down there in the den area, among the assembled chairs and couches, was Thranduil. He was sitting with Bilbo, leaning in towards him, and they both were laughing about something. For a strange and confusing second, Bard actually felt jealous. Then Thranduil looked up.

The smile stayed on his face but left his eyes. Bilbo didn't notice, as he jumped up from the couch to greet Sigrid. “Hello, my _dear_ ,” he said, giving her a hug. “How sweet of you to visit! Hello Bard.”

“Hallo,” Bard said, woodenly.

Bilbo nodded to the open door leading out of the sitting area, where Kíli and Tauriel were peering curiously out at them from the bed. Sigrid didn't need to be told, suddenly rushing over there with a huge smile on her face, excitedly greeting Tauriel.

“Well,” Bard said, looking over his shoulder at Thorin. He was comforted to see Thorin was wearing an expression of resigned surprise and gladness on his face.

“We've... had some developments,” Thorin said. “No thanks to the sneaky machinations of some crazy businessman.”

“Guilty,” Thranduil admitted, with a shrug.

“I'll go whip up some hot chocolate. Thorin, why don't you come with me?” Bilbo asked, in the tone of voice that Bard recognized among couples, which silently meant, _how about we get some alone time to talk things through, my love, away from the guests?_ “Bard can keep Thranduil company.”

And just like that, Thranduil and Bard were left alone. Well, in a way; Kíli's bedroom door was still open, and he and the girls were discussing something in earnest. It sounded like a movie plot. After a moment, Bard went to sit in the armchair close to Thranduil's spot on the couch. The other man was looking at him, carefully.

“Hello, Bard,” he said, finally. His voice was soft and cool.

“Hello.”

Thranduil propped his chin on the palm of his hand. He was so good-looking, so finely turned out, that he was distressing for Bard to even look at, let alone talk to. “We sorted some things out this weekend,” he said, and it took Bard a moment to realize he meant Tauriel and Kíli, and not him and Bard.

“That's good.”

“It's still rather rocky but we're going to work through it,” Thranduil continued, and Bard was surprised to realize the man was talking because it was too awkward for him to be silent. Like all of his realizations that he could actually have any sort of affect on anyone, Bard tried to ignore it. “With Oakenshield. And with... with my children.”

“They're important.”

Thranduil looked at him in surprise that Bard chose to join the conversation. “Yes, they are,” he said, slowly. His voice went very soft, presumably so that no one in the adjoining room could overhear. “The way you are with your children... it's impressive, Bard.”

“I haven't been a very good father, lately.”

“You always are. I've noticed.”

“You might be biased.”

Thranduil gave him a careful look. “No, I'm not,” he said. “Did you break up with me because _I'm_ a bad father, though?” he asked.

Bard was taken aback. “What- no.”

“Then why?”

“It's nothing to do with you, Thranduil. It was me.”

“None of that it's-not-you-it's-me trash, Bard.”

“It's the truth.”

“Please. I want to know.”

Bard opened his mouth and closed it again; Thranduil looked at him expectantly. _Maybe he stopped making you happy because you stopped letting him_. Bard had broken things off because he had been afraid he was neglecting Sigrid; but maybe by breaking up with Thranduil, Bard was neglecting something else about his life.

He didn't have more time to think about it because there was, suddenly, a clash of rather affable voices from upstairs. Thranduil looked up, as if he could gaze through the ceiling. “Ah, speaking of children,” he said. A moment later, Legolas himself was bounding down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write the breakup scene between Bard and Thranduil before realizing the fruitlessness of it. They would have kept it relatively calm, and naturally the big emotional fallout occurs in the week after. There's a reason why they've both been so moody with everyone ;)


	33. a list of good things

Bard took his leave soon after Legolas and Fíli arrived, having arranged for Bilbo to give Sigrid a ride home. Apparently, despite all good sense, Fíli had found Legolas utterly entertaining, and together they had drunk a good portion of Lonely Mountain stock before Dwalin discovered them and gave them a ride to Bag End.

It wasn't that Bard wanted to leave – he definitely didn't. But he'd taken the morning off from work to see Sigrid to Kíli, and Alfrid was more caustic than usual when Bard did that, never mind showing up late for the second half of his shift.

For some reason the city seemed foreign to him today. He had a lot of trouble with his routes, even though Alfrid had found no chance to mess him up by giving him anything new. The morning had definitely left him off balance. He was an hour into deliveries and he just wanted it to be over with.

At least delivering to Greenleaf Acquisitions was easy, especially because he knew Thranduil wasn't there. The office seemed rather lax without their boss around, and Bard thought back to his first time delivering there. It seemed ridiculously long ago where Thranduil had been nothing but a rude, snooty suit, and Tauriel his understanding secretary making excuses for him and vouching for his kindness.

Everything had gone sideways ever since Bard had gone to the Green Dragon with him. And oddly enough, he didn't regret it.

He liked all of the relationships he'd forged this summer, even the one with Thranduil, despite how confused it made him. Sigrid had found a strong, female guide in Tauriel, they'd both grown as father and daughter. As summers went, this one was undoubtedly transformative in the best sense. And soon it would be time for Tilda and Bain to return home from camp, and Bard missed them desperately. Laketown had its rules, and calls to his children had been limited to only once a week in order to 'foster independence'. Whether that was for the children or the parents, Bard didn't know, but especially now that he no longer had Thranduil to distract him the days were getting infernally long.

But what could Bard do about it, about anything? He felt like he was at a dead end.

Back at the office, Alfrid was huffing about, grumbling quite a bit. He was only ever like that when _his_ boss was giving him a rough time, and Bard did his best to avoid him. Unfortunately, Alfrid intercepted him on the way to the door after signing out.

“We need you to work Saturday, Bard,” Alfrid said. “We lost another courier this morning.”

“Alfrid,” Bard sighed. “Maybe if you stopped treating us like bipedal vermin, less of us would quit.”

“Well, it certainly hasn't dissuaded you.”

Bard bit his tongue, because of course it hadn't. He couldn't quit without a back up job in place, and Alfrid kept him too busy for that, never mind the difficulty of switching careers and schedules. He mentally worked through his irritation, and then sighed. “Fine, I'll take the shift on Saturday,” he said. He'd taken the half day, so there was no harm in getting a few more extra hours, especially while he still only had Sigrid to be responsible for.

When he got home she was already there, sitting on the living room couch. Well, sitting being a suggestive sense of the word, since she was hanging upside down off of it while she watched some sort of anime program.

“Where'd you get that?” he asked, standing at the couch and watching for a moment. “And why are you reading the subtitles upside down?”

“Tauriel lent it to me,” she said. “And because I want to, da.”

“Because you're a thriving and independent woman?”

“Yup.”

“When did you get home?”

She shifted, straightening up. “A couple hours ago,” she said. “We had to take care of Legolas. Fíli got him really, really drunk and it was this whoooole thing.”

Bard raised his eyebrows. “Bilbo took Legolas home?”

“No, Mr Greenleaf did,” she said. “I wanted to help so I went with them and he drove me home afterwards.”

“Ah.”

Bard headed into the kitchen. “I thought we'd have sandwiches for dinner tonight, it's too hot to cook,” Sigrid called after him. He made a noise in response to signal his agreement, thinking about how even 'really, really drunk' Legolas still gave Bard a very pointed look down in Bag End's basement. He didn't know if Thranduil had told him anything, but Legolas clearly knew they were no longer together.

He cracked open a beer and turned, and Sigrid was standing right there. He jumped. “You are _silent_!” he exclaimed. “Don't scare your old man like that, I could get a heart attack.”

She grinned, a tad bit evilly. “Sandwiches?” she said again.

“Sounds good.”

“Tuna or ham?”

“Ham's easier.”

Sigrid brushed by him to get the jar of pickles. “So, da,” she said, conversationally. That was the tone of voice she normally used when she was about to ask him for something. He wondered if he should sit down right now or wait until the blow hit him.

“So, Sigrid,” he said, sipping his beer.

“Have you thought more about the guy you were seeing?”

“Sigrid. It hasn't even been a full day since we talked about it.”

“I know,” she admitted, pulling down the bread. He moved to take out the cutting board. “It's just... I know who it is, now.”

Bard paused. “Who told you?”

“No one.”

“What?”

“Da,” Sigrid sighed. “If you think about it, I mean, it's pretty obvious. You don't exactly have a rollicking social calendar-”

“Hey!”

“-and you went for a drink with Tauriel's boss a little bit before you started having a life,” she reasoned. “Well? Am I right?”

Bard scowled down at the cutting board, cursing her attention to detail, and she laughed. “I think he's cute,” she continued.

“Oh, Sigrid. None of that.”

“Well, I think Legolas is adorable, and they look a lot alike,” she defended. “I'm just trying to support your choices, da. Well, some of them, anyway?”

He scoffed, taking the jar of pickles from her, and the cheese from the fridge. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean, my beautiful daughter?”

“Well, why did you break up with him?”

“It was nothing, I told you. I didn't see anything long term in it.”

“He was really nice,” Sigrid said, as if she hadn't heard him. “I mean. I think he's the kind of person who doesn't think he's nice, but actually is.”

Bard was silent for a moment. “I would agree with that,” he said, grudgingly.

“I'm just saying, you were really happy before and now you're kind of in a funk, so maybe you didn't make the right choice, da.”

He sighed. “Sigrid,” he said, a bit of an agonized tone creeping into his voice. “How are you right all the time? How?”

“I'm not!” she exclaimed. “But maybe I'm wrong when you're right and you're wrong when I'm right. Maybe that's how it's just set up.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you're just smarter than me.”

“That's probably it,” Sigrid said, with another evil grin. “Hey! So. Legolas almost broke his nose today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he fell against the doorjamb at Tauriel's place. His dad just ended up putting him in the shower and turning the water on.”

“Makes me wonder how Fíli is doing.”

“He was throwing up when we left. And Thorin said something about demoting him for drinking with the enemy, I dunno.”

“Well, you think about that when you come of age and consider partying,” Bard cautioned. “Your nose looks fine the way it is and we can't afford to fix it back into a nice shape if you smash it.”

“Gee, thanks da.”

 

Bard could easily admit to himself that Sigrid's opinion on things influenced him heavily. He valued her point of view, youthful though it was. After she had gone to bed for the night, needing to get up for the very early shift at the Shire, Bard spent some time at the computer they kept in the corner of the living room.

He was tempted to smoke, but he hadn't done so regularly since he was younger and, even now, lighting up a cigarette made him feel vaguely ill. He was just feeling fidgety, irritable, and needed something to do with his hands.

He supposed that was why he was at the computer.

Remembering what his wife used to do when she was uncertain about something, he started to type out a long list of why he ought to get back together with Thranduil. Then he started to write out a list as to why he shouldn't. Distressingly – perhaps entirely the fault of Sigrid – the second one was a very, very short list. He sighed and buried his face in his hands. He'd broken it off to focus on his family, and now his family – or his daughter, at least – was trying to push him back out there.

Telling himself that Sigrid had no real scope of the whole relationship didn't help. Somehow, that didn't seem to matter, and that was irritating by itself.

He went and found himself revisiting the list he'd gathered as to why he and Thranduil should be together. He tapped the backspace button a few times, turning it from a list view into a paragraph of good things. He deleted a few things, converted some into sentences. Before he knew it, Bard realized he was writing a love letter.

He left it during the day, and in the evening revisited it, reread it, adding some things and taking out others, tinkering as he went along.

It took him until Friday night to finish it. Then he sat there in front of the computer, considering it, and wondering what the Hell he was going to do with it. Or, rather, he knew what to do with it; he just wasn't sure if he would be able to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually wrote about half a chapter from Legolas' POV that I trashed because it was too superfluous to the plot and was mostly Legolas getting drunk with Fili while he was being kept 'on watch' at the brewery. Highly entertaining, but didn't serve much of a purpose.  
> There was one important note, which was just Legolas knowing for certain that Thranduil had been dumped. Because it has no place in the story but does have some extra info for those who want it, Ima just copy/paste it in here for all y'all.  
> -  
> Downstairs, his father was sitting... with Bard. Legolas narrowed his eyes. Even if he hadn't noticed everything else, seeing them there clinched it. They weren't sitting together, though they were near enough to talk. Despite Thranduil having turned his body towards Bard, Bard was pointedly looking in the other direction.  
> Thranduil screaming at Tauriel could have been played off as having been the sole reaction to her own damaging words thrown at him, as well as the stress he was going through with the ruin of his attempted acquisition of Lonely Mountain. But there were other things: claiming his phone had been doused with water so he couldn't call Bard, only to be seen talking on it the very next morning. A distinct lack of texting if he was around Legolas and Tauriel. A pushy focus on Legolas which was less critical and more smothering. Punching Azog in the face at a very public event. Finding drunken schemes genius. And now this.  
> It was official. His dad had been dumped and he was becoming a trainwreck. When Tauriel had issues she went between raging out and curling up in a ball and weeping. Apparently, Thranduil turned into a reality TV star. What would happen if Legolas ever got dumped? If he was going to inherit his family's inability to deal with emotion, he hoped it manifested into beat poetry and not public breakdowns.  
> Caught between not wanting to reveal how drunk he was and love for his poor, unsettled father, Legolas paused for a moment before rushing forward to give Thranduil a hug. He ended up missing his father entirely and toppling onto the couch, which was soft, at least.  
> “Hello, child of mine,” Thranduil said, patting Legolas on the head. “You need to sober up. Did you have a good time causing a scene?”  
> “Sure did.”  
> “I see you've met Fili.”  
> “He's Good People,” Legolas mumbled. He shifted, doing his best to climb upright and keep his balance, before falling back against the couch in a sitting position. Ah. Much better.


	34. making a deal

God, what a long week. Eight days ago, Bard had broken up with him, and then everything had very successfully gone to shit before starting to be built back up again. Thranduil knew he had only himself to blame. Maybe if he was more centred, more in control of the moment, he wouldn't have let everything get to him the way it had. Instead, he'd allowed himself to act like a slighted reality TV bride.

In a way, though, he was glad. His behaviour had steered him wrong at first, but then it had given him the strength to move outside of his normal comfort zones, embrace the almost chaotic nature of his family life. He'd almost lost Tauriel but now she was back and they were closer than ever. Legolas, too, was different. His son had for some time been a mysterious creature, distant and unwilling to communicate, but now he was close to home again, starting to settle in for the long haul. Thranduil was grateful for that.

So he'd lost out on the Lonely Mountain. It would have been incredible if he'd gotten in on it, but he figured those were just the sacrifices that needed to be made. Sometimes, you had to accept the losses life gave you. And even though he had been late in remembering them, his wife's words were in his mind now these days. _Sometimes we need a tragedy in order to have the opportunity to build something good_.

Well, he wasn't about to make that mistake again, and he was prepared to start working on a better stage of his life.

It was Saturday and he was in the office, but Tauriel wasn't. They were all somewhat in flux. She'd tried to get her job back, but while Thranduil wanted her in his office again he didn't want her doing things just to make _him_ happy. If she didn't want to stay at Greenleaf Acquisitions she was no longer obligated to, and he tried to make that clear to her. The result was that she had taken an official vacation, in order to better enjoy Kíli before he had to leave town and go back to school at the end of the summer. If he did go back, anyway; the fact he couldn't draw or paint yet brought into question his return to art school, at least for the time being.

So as it was Tauriel's job fell to her office backup, Sharon, who rose magnificently to the job. She seemed surprised by Thranduil's apology that she work Saturday, which told him he had definitely been quite lazy in regards to his staff while Tauriel was around. Together, they also started to build a shortlist of companies to add to Tauriel's portfolio. And that was made easier by an unexpected change in the business landscape.

The amount of appointments he'd had to cancel during the week due to the family upset meant he had to spend more of his own time sorting everything out and rescheduling, as well as reworking his timetable. Surprisingly, his behaviour at the Local Entrepreneur's Gathering hadn't put anyone off. In fact, smaller businesses who had never even heard of him were now contacting him for meetings and possible investment. Apparently, his willingness to slam a fist into one of the more readily disliked men in the city made him popular.

It certainly made him likable enough to Thorin Oakenshield, who seemed willing – though not especially eager – to allow Thranduil into the family fold for the time being.

Deciding that his first barbecue had been somewhat of a disaster, Bilbo wanted to redo it and that was on the agenda for today, which apparently lined up with his nephew returning from some sort of summer sojourn. It had likely already started while Thranduil was sitting at his desk catching up on work.

He had been invited, but he didn't really want to go. He didn't want to slight Thorin, of course – at the moment the two businessmen were walking on eggshells around each other, being overly polite and courteous – but he was starting to feel exhausted. He needed an early night. He hoped Thorin felt the same about that.

Sometime near the end of the day, Sharon came in with an envelope while he was on the phone with Elrond. “One moment,” he said, turning his attention to her. “Yes?”

“This just came for you.”

“Alright, thank you, I'll look at it in a minute.”

She placed the envelope on the desk and left so that he could return to his conversation with Elrond. It was a business call in the loosest sense, which meant it was eighty percent gossip. News of Thranduil's interaction with Azog had already spread. Azog had threatened a lawsuit, but of course they both knew that wouldn't happen. When both parties had an equal chance of losing or winning, lawsuits or even pressing charges made everything that much murkier – and, therefore, more expensive. Azog was penny-pinching and proud, which meant he wouldn't risk losing face _or_ money.

“From a PR standpoint, it really is quite fascinating,” Elrond said, while Thranduil slit open the envelope. “The people's hero is always a great role to play, you just don't see it often outside of politics.”

“I hardly doubt I'm that,” Thranduil said, unfolding the letter.

“No, but you're close enough.”

“Elrond,” Thranduil said, urgently, staring at the paper in his hands. He'd only read the first sentence, but that didn't matter; he'd read the rest on the way down the stairs. Maybe. “Elrond, I have to go.”

“Do-”

Thranduil hung up and dashed around his desk. Bard had been here. He had to move fast.

 

It was his last assignment of the day, and it technically wasn't on the roster. Bard had made sure to be quick about his last few deliveries so he had time for this one. He also ignored the voice in his head telling him to back off, not do it, maybe save it for another day.

Tauriel had mentioned she was taking a couple weeks off work, though. Whether Thranduil was in the office on Saturday or not, that meant that Bard could leave the parcel at the front desk and then make his escape. Maybe Thranduil wouldn't get it until Monday when he came in. Or if he was there, the parcel wasn't marked as urgent, so it wouldn't go straight to him.

He handed it off to the receptionist, who, recognizing him, smiled, and then he took the elevator back down, his mind churning. Was he making the right decision? And if he was, was he even going about it the right way? He didn't know; all he knew was he didn't think he had the courage to call Thranduil or face him in person, and this seemed like the easiest route.

If Thranduil wanted nothing to do with him anymore, that was fine. That was in the letter. If on Monday Alfrid told him that he would no longer be making deliveries to Greenleaf Acquisitions, then he would know. It wouldn't be painless, but at least it would be bloodless.

It was Saturday so the building wasn't as busy as usual, but he still got off the elevator with a good enough crowd of people. He let most of them get off first since they all had bags and briefcases, then stepped out and headed for the glass doors that led out into the street.

Sigrid would be done her shift by now and would have gotten a ride over to Bag End with Fíli (who was, he heard, currently banished from Lonely Mountain for being untrustworthy with the stock). He knew he should go, but he didn't want to run into Thranduil, so he planned on sloping on home. At least it was a nice day for a long, meandering walk. He was even toying with the idea of buying a bottle of whiskey when he heard his name being called.

He turned on his heel. Behind him, slipping agilely through the glass doors, was Thranduil. As usual he was dressed immaculately, but his hair was not very sleek.

“Did you-”

“Run down the stairs, yes,” Thranduil said, stopping next to Bard. He put his hand on Bard's shoulder for balance as he bent down, catching his breath. “Oh, _lord_ ,” he said. “I really need to get back into regularly doing cardio.”

“You also need a hairbrush.”

“So do you,” Thranduil snapped back, then sighed. “Sorry. Reflex.”

Bard just stared at him, because... because this was terribly awkward, and he noticed the letter, half-crumpled in Thranduil's hand. He took the other man's elbow and guided them both off to the side, out of the flow of foot traffic. “I didn't tell her to give it right to you.”

“Well, my employees like to be prompt.”

“It's practically only been five minutes.”

“I sort of dropped what I was doing and ran.”

“That's really romcom of you.”

Thranduil ran his fingers through his hair, then squinted up at the sun. “Damn, it's hot,” he muttered. Bard scuffed his shoe against the ground.

“Well?” he asked. The blonde man just blinked.

“Well what?”

“You ran down here for a reason. All signs point to it being because of that letter.”

Thranduil looked down at the paper in his hand. “Yes, that's right,” he said, and Bard was glad to see that, apparently, the other man was being just as awkward as he was.

“So what do you think of it?”

“Um. Well. How about you sum it up for me?” Thranduil asked. “I'm a very busy man. I work better if you can get to the point and it's... it's quite long.”

Oh, for the love of- “I'm in love with you,” Bard blurted out, in frustration. Did the man have to drag this out? “I am horrible boyfriend material, but I think I'm in love with you. No, I am very sure. Almost one hundred percent sure.”

“I was hoping that's what it said.”

Bard gaped at him. “You're serious?” he asked. “You actually _didn't read it_? You just... sprinted out here anyway?”

Thranduil stared at him; Bard had a feeling they both wore matching annoyed expressions. Then he sighed. “You might be bad boyfriend material, but I'm not too great at fatherhood, these days,” he said. “So let's make a deal. You help me be a better father, and I'll make you a better boyfriend.”

“I- what?”

“Deal?”

“Do you know how much time and effort I put into that letter!”

“ _Bard_! Deal?”

“Yes? Yes!”

And then Thranduil kissed him, right there in the street in the middle of the day. It was wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've run a wee bit behind, but expect the final chapter in a day or two.  
> Thank you all! <3


	35. a very good summer

Bag End was buzzing with an energy that was almost audible beneath the music (or people arguing over what music to play), Kíli's mellow guitar playing in the backyard, even the sound of the fridge wildly opening and shutting every few minutes.

Legolas was feeling happy. Often he had that insatiable itch, a mental tickling that warned him not to get too relaxed. He wasn't sure where it came from – maybe his mother – but he always wanted to keep moving, keep travelling. This felt right, though.

Maybe it was the way Tauriel smiled, or even his relationship with his father. Or maybe it was just the fact that things were changing, subtly; it was as if a skewed life was finally getting back on track. And not in the boring, conservative way he hated – but in an adventurous way he loved.

The heat of the day had begun to diminish slightly into a wonderful, sleepy warmth that draped over the party like a blanket. It certainly wasn't slowing down, though; it had simply wandered into its steady stage. 'The kids', as Bilbo was referring to them, had set up camp in the backyard, partially in the shade. To help keep Kíli comfortable they had brought out many lawn chairs, blankets, pillows, food and drink, and set it up picnic style. At the moment, Tauriel and Sigrid were sitting with Kíli. Sigrid was braiding sections of Tauriel's hair.

Legolas knew Tauriel better than anyone else, and it made him very, very happy to see her smile, and blush, and fuss over Kíli. Tauriel was a woman who cared very deeply for people, but buried it beneath that cool composure. It was what made her strong and fierce.

But she was guarded, also, when it came to the deeper parts of her heart. Picky to the extreme, easily unsettled or annoyed, he'd never known her to be fond of anyone in that capacity for longer than two weeks. And there she was, at ease, trying to braid a dandelion into Kíli's unkempt hair. He didn't think she was in love the way most people were, not yet. But she was hooked, and there was nowhere else for her to go but up.

Legolas drained the rest of his beer and stood up, disregarding the fact that Fíli was trying to teach him how to play some sort of chord on the guitar. “Want another one?” he asked. “And should we start the quarters competition soon?”

The moustache trembled in amused indignation. “Stupid questions, Greenleaf,” he said.

“I'm full of those,” Legolas promised. “Be right back.”

Swaying a little – sometimes he felt like in the summer he got drunk way faster than at any other time of year – he headed back into the house. There was a raucous shout from the living room that sounded like Dwalin.

Despite the fact that everyone at Lonely Mountain apparently heartily disliked his father, after a good couple of hours they all seemed more or less unbothered by Legolas. Even Dwalin, who had been the one to tip him and Fíli into a car and drive them over to Bag End the day after the Local Entrepreneur's Gathering, seemed fond of him. The way that grumpy old men seemed fond of idiots, anyway.

“You two!” he'd muttered, scowling behind the steering wheel. “Heaven forbid I ever have children, or my family ever has children. None of this! If they do, let them all be girls! They have more sense! You two brats must drive your parents up the wall!”

“Mom loves me,” Fíli had pouted. “And I bet she would love Legolas, too.”

“Be quiet, Fíli. You're in trouble.”

That trouble had amounted to Fíli being momentarily barred from the brewery – but from what he told Legolas, he definitely hadn't learned his lesson.

Balin was in the kitchen. He was the sort of frail-looking man who was secretly sturdy and could probably knock a bit of sense into anyone he came across, but was much too nice. As it turned out he was actually Dwalin's much older brother, which was both surprising but also made complete and absolute sense. “They debating something?” Legolas asked, questing around for the bottle opener.

“Undoubtedly,” Balin laughed. “How are the kids outside?”

“Wonderful. We''re going to start playing quarters off of Kíli's cast.”

“Careful, son. Bad things happen to those who compete with Durinsons in drinking games.”

Legolas stepped aside as – Bofur? Bifur? – came to snag a few plates. There were so many employees of Lonely Mountain and the Shire hanging around that he was having trouble keeping track of everyone, but they all seemed to know exactly who he was. Maybe because he'd dressed up as his dad and invaded Lonely Mountain. Or just because he had one of those faces. Who knew.

Two beers in each hand, figuring someone was going to drink the extras, he wove through the crowd of people and back outside.

 

Bard had gone home and showered off the day, because now he apparently had evening plans. He spent a moment staring at himself in the mirror. As always, he had a difficult time gauging how attractive he was. Sometimes he thought he was quite the catch; at others, he wasn't sure how normal people could even bother to look at him. Honestly, he usually thought the latter more often than the former, though as of late he'd been forced to question that.

Thranduil showed up when he said he would – six o'clock on the dot. Bard buzzed to let him in.

The other man seemed to find some special amusement in his apartment, especially the living room, where the coffee table was currently littered with several books, empty cups, and about a dozen different bottles of nail polish. “This is almost exactly how my living room used to look when Legolas and Tauriel were younger,” he said. “You couldn't move without stepping on something.”

“Did that drive you crazy?”

“More than it should have,” Thranduil admitted.

Bard made sure to grab his keys and his phone, flicking off the light switches. “Let's go, then?” he asked, heading for the door.

But instead of stepping aside or heading out into the hall, Thranduil didn't budge even when Bard was standing right up against him. “You know,” he said, slipping his hand up along Bard's side. “It occurs to me we haven't really _made up_ yet.”

Despite the shiver that ran up Bard's back, he firmly took the other man by the shoulders and turned him around, pushing him out the door. “Not now,” he said, sternly.

Thranduil huffed.

“Later,” Bard promised. “It wouldn't do to be later to the party than we already are.”

“If you insist.”

“Can I drive?”

“Your driving privileges are currently suspended,” Thranduil claimed. Of course, that meant nothing, because once they were on the ground floor and outside Bard saw the cab waiting for them.

They both discussed it, though briefly, on the way to Bag End. “Let's not announce anything,” Thranduil had suggested. “It's nobody's business but our own.” Bard had agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly. They weren't about to hide it, however, if only because that would take quite a lot of effort, and what was the point? As far as Bard was concerned, there were only two critics at the party whose opinions were the most important, and that was Legolas and Sigrid – and they already knew.

Arriving at Bag End together did not garner very much attention, though, which was nice. Everyone was scattered about all over the place. As before, both upstairs and the basement were closed off, leaving a large amount of people simply milling about on the ground floor. Several people were already drunk; Bard caught a glimpse of Bombur taking a nap on the nearest armchair before Bilbo was suddenly obscuring the view.

“Bard! Thranduil!” he seemed wholeheartedly pleased to see the both of them, an unusual reaction around that area of the world. “I'm so glad you both could make it. What would you like to drink? Wine? Beer? Something harder? Maybe a combination of everything in a big red Solo cup?”

“You're very cheerful, Bilbo,” Bard remarked, amused. “Has Frodo shown up yet, then?”

“Not yet, but he's due to arrive in the next hour or two. 'Late for dinner, as usual', he told me. Come in, come in. Kíli's got his army of admirers in the backyard. They're trying to bounce quarters off his cast.”

“I'm going to take that as a suggestion I go check on my daughter,” Bard said. He looked at Thranduil, who shrugged, but reached out and squeezed his wrist in a silent signal that Bard go tend to his responsibilities. Bilbo's eyebrows raised, but Thranduil turned away and without missing a beat said, “Now, Bilbo, where _is_ the wine? If that's something you're interested in, you should visit my vinyard.”

Bard ducked away and headed outside, snagging a beer up from one of the ice tubs as he did so. Outside the summer sun was still shining brightly, and instead of the stereo playing music, there was Fíli strumming a guitar.

Sure enough, Kíli was set up in the shade surrounded by pillows, drinks, and foodstuff. Sigrid was there but, thankfully, was not one of the ones playing quarters off of the cast; she was just sitting and braiding several sections of Tauriel's hair.

“Da!” she exclaimed happily, once she caught sight of him. “You came!”

He held out his hand, motioning for her not to bother getting up, and moved to settle down on the grass beside Tauriel, who gave him a smiling look. She never looked very old, obviously, seeing as how she was still heartily in her twenties, but she looked a few years younger with the glow in her face. Yes, Bard knew it well. If Tauriel wasn't quite yet head over heels in love, she was heading there.

“Damn it,” Legolas cursed, as the quarter went flying towards the back of the house, missing the glass of something clear and fizzy entirely. Fíli snorted. “Do-over?”

“Nope, drink,” Fíli demanded.

“Are we chipping the cast?” Tauriel wondered, leaning over slightly, but stopping when Sigrid pulled on her hair to stop her from moving. “We don't want to do that.”

“It's fine,” Legolas proclaimed. “Isn't that what a cast is for? To protect broken bones from the elements?”

“Sort of?” Kíli said, and laughed. “I'm trying not to drink too much,” he said, aside, to Bard. “It apparently might slow my healing. But this lot is making it difficult.”

“I wasn't going to drink, out of solidarity,” Tauriel protested. “But you're making me!”

“It makes you all cute and flushed,” Kíli said. Tauriel blushed, and he smiled. “That's it! But I have Sigrid to keep me company on the sobriety train.”

Bard smiled at his daughter, who smiled back. He wanted to talk to her, tell her about Thranduil, ask her for her opinion, but there was no room for it now. He just rubbed the back of her neck for a moment, then watched the game of quarters unfold, enjoying the sunlight. There was little to unsettle him now.

 

Thranduil didn't know Bilbo very well, but that would soon change. Bilbo really did like the other man, genuinely, a fact which was irritating Thorin to no end but, of course, he could do very little about it. They had a lot in common and had already made a dozen plans for outings. They were both men of cultured tastes who lacked friends in that area; it was almost startling how many restaurants, cocktail bars, plays, symphonies, and cafes they were arranging to go to together now, having never found anyone else even interested in checking those places out.

Bilbo was more than prepared to get to know Thranduil, convinced the man was absolutely lovely once you ignored the outer wrapping of chilly yuppie (seeing the best in people was something he had learned through dating Thorin). And Thranduil was definitely going to get to know Bilbo – especially his habit to not let things drop. Like very pointed glances between the man and one of his oldest friends.

After wine was poured, food was secured, and two seats in the less-congested TV room by the back door had been discovered (as the front living room had been turned into an arm wrestling arena) Bilbo wasted no time.

“So who knows about you and Bard?” he asked, politely.

Thranduil gave him a scowl that was markedly similar to one Thorin sometimes wore. And as it was on both men, it looked more like a male model pouting than an expression Bilbo was going to take seriously. “Are you always like this?”

“Always!” he said, cheerfully. “Well?”

Thranduil swirled his wine around in his glass, observing the way it flowed. Everything seemed very quiet, even with the shouts and laughter seeping in from all sides. “Legolas knows,” he said after a moment, shrugging. “And Sigrid, as well. Or at least they know we used to be together, not that we got back together.”

“Congratulations! When?”

He checked his watch. “Four hours ago, maybe?”

“So for ages, then.”

“Yes, I feel positively ancient when I think back to this afternoon.”

“Well, Bard has been needing a proper relationship for quite some time, so cheers to that,” Bilbo said, holding up his wine in a toast. They clinked glasses.

After a sip he remarked, thoughtfully, “Maybe we should go on double dates?” Thranduil coughed inelegantly into his wine.

 

Sigrid was happy. Summer wasn't over yet but she could feel the turn of it; it was nearing its end. She looked forward to Bain and Tilda's return, she was starting to feel that familiar restlessness over wanting to go back to school. She would have to face her old group of friends sometime, she knew. But those were all things to deal with on a different day.

For now, it was getting late, and she was watching her new friends – and it was so strange to think that these people in their twenties, who should have been far above and beyond her, were her friends – getting more and more drunk. Except Kíli, who smiled and winked at her whenever his brother said something a bit too slurred.

Even her dad was getting a bit drunk, which she would have been worried about were it not for something she noticed. He drifted in and out of the house, sometimes sitting with her, at other times – well. She went inside for a coke and saw him sitting next to Thranduil among a group of the other adults. She quickly went back outside, hoping that meant he'd finally gone and done something about how sad he'd been feeling. Probably. She didn't think he'd have come out tonight otherwise. She loved her dad, but in a lot of ways he was pretty predictable; with any luck he'd be breaking some of his habits. It would be better for him, she decided.

The game of quarters had devolved into truth or dare, and Sigrid didn't need to be a genius to know that things were going to go downhill very quickly. Sure enough, Tauriel bet that Legolas couldn't 'parkour his way into the neighbour's yard'. Legolas made it over the gardening tools, up against the shed, and halfway up the fence before landing straight onto his back.

Sigrid, Kíli, Fíli and Tauriel were laughing so hard and so raucously that no one moved to actually _help_ him for a good thirty seconds, until Sigrid remembered herself and jumped up, rushing over to his side. “Are you okay?” she asked, still laughing but genuinely concerned, helping him to sit up. He shook his head, braids and loose hair flying.

“Damn, that was rough,” he said. “Stop laughing at me!” he shouted, to no one in particular; it sort of lost its weight due to the fact he started laughing himself. Sigrid picked some grass out of his hair and tried to help him up, but he was too busy rolling about on the lawn in pretend misery.

Tauriel was crying from laughing so much. “You fell _straight down_ , it was like a cartoon,” she gasped.

Sigrid was facing them and, therefore, the house, so she could see quite a lot of people making their way outside – including Thranduil. He stood unnoticed at Tauriel's shoulder while she giggled uncontrollably, smiling a little, before he said in a stern voice, “Now, that's not very sympathetic of you.” She squeaked and almost rolled into Kíli.

Bilbo was rushing about, setting up chairs, ordering everyone on where to place food and drinks, adding to the picnic spread they'd set up for Kíli earlier. From what she could see, the crowd had thinned out.

Sigrid took Legolas' hands and helped haul him upright, which was no easy feat – Legolas looked slender, but he was heavy with muscle. That was something only a handful of the boys at her school could boast, certainly. Ah, maybe with her luck, a few of them had spent the summer filling out?

No, she didn't really think that way, but it was fun to muse about such things, all the same.

“What are you doing outside?” Tauriel asked, craning her head back to look at Thranduil while Legolas slumped down next to Fíli, who was still laughing but handed him over his beer in reparation. She raised her arms, as if she were a child asking to be picked up. Sigrid stifled a smile.

“Well,” Thranduil said, mildly. “There's been a few spills in the living room. Also half of us old people are taking naps inside the house, apparently, and now it's nice and cool out and Bilbo thought we should keep an eye on you. _We_ being responsible adults.”

Thorin snorted behind him. Thranduil looked over his shoulder and said, pointedly, “ _You_ spilt that beer, not me.”

“Because you pulled a quick one in the arm wrestle. I'm on to you, Greenleaf.”

Thranduil spread his hands elegantly and shrugged, eyes wide with innocence.

Thorin set up a chair between where Kíli and Fíli sat, settling down so that his two nephews were at either knee. Tauriel tugged on Thranduil's hand, trying to get him to sit. “I'll get grass stains,” he said. But then suddenly Bard was standing there, elbowing him gently in the side, and Thranduil sighed and knelt down.

Sigrid moved to envelop her father in a hug. To her surprise he hugged her back fiercely, picking her up and rubbing his stubbly face against her cheeks until she shrieked and wriggled around. “Stop!” she laughed.

“Never!” he exclaimed, but he set her down.

They all gathered together on the lawn, some on chairs, some on blankets, others on the grass. Bilbo eschewed a chair and sat down on a blanket, between Fíli and Kíli, resting his cheek on Thorin's knee. Sigrid, who sat leaning against her father, looked around at everyone and wondered if so many of them being merry and drunk stopped them from seeing what she did; or did their drunkenness cast everything into sharp relief? Did only the important things jump out?

Tauriel stretched out on ground; everyone had carefully arranged their drinks and food so she didn't knock anything over. She sighed and rolled slightly, so that her cheek was propped on Thranduil's calf. She gazed over at Bard, who sat very close to Thranduil. “This is my dad,” she said, calmly.

Sigrid didn't want to look and see what kind of expression her father and Thranduil were exchanging. Instead she looked around for a certain blonde, wondering why everything was so quiet-

“Someone's here!” Legolas shouted from inside the house. Less than a split second later, he and an old man burst outside.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo shouted. “You're here!” The old man, who had a long grey beard and grey hair, wearing the kind of old-fashioned travelling suit similar to what Sigrid saw her great grandfather wearing in old photographs, followed Legolas over to them. “And how was the trip? Find anything useful?”

“You're late,” Thorin observed, fingering a curl of Bilbo's hair.

“I'm never late,” Gandalf managed to both scoff and look wisely amused at the same time. “I show up exactly when I mean to. But yes, Bilbo, I found some wonderful things for the shop. I must thank you for the excellent lending of your nephew to me over the summer, it's been quite the riot, I assure you...” he trailed off, staring hard. “Is that Thranduil Greenleaf?”

“Sure is,” Thorin answered, with a sigh.

“Why, my boy, your hair is exquisite.”

“Not you, too,” Thorin groaned.

“Charmed,” Thranduil said, holding out his hand. “You must excuse my not getting up. I have... a daughter. On my leg. You understand.”

“Yes,” Gandalf said, solemnly, as they shook hands. “I understand completely.”

The back door opened again. This time Bilbo got to his feet, uttering a sound of absolute joy, rushing forward to envelope this new visitor in a hug.

Kíli and Fíli cheered. “'Ey! It's fro-yo boggins!”

Sigrid shook her head at them, smiling, then watched curiously as Bilbo tugged his nephew over. Bilbo had spent so much of the summer talking about Frodo, Sigrid swore she knew him already, but she didn't know what he looked like and wanted to find out.

She saw tousled hair, and big, beautiful eyes. She couldn't tell what colour they were, but they were still wonderful to look at.

“Everyone who hasn't met him, this is my nephew, Frodo,” Bilbo said, so proud it looked like he was about to float off through the air. “He's been spending the whole summer helping Gandalf look for new stock for his store.”

“Yeah, um, hi,” Frodo said, clearly embarrassed by all of the attention. But then he caught sight of Kíli's cast and rushed over to ask him about it; and everyone was talking again, and then her father put his arm around her shoulders and asked her if she was looking forward to seeing her siblings again.

As daylight faded and citronella candles were lit to keep the mosquitoes at bay, Sigrid looked over at Frodo again to find that he was already staring at her. He blushed, looking away so quickly he jerked and knocked his coke over. She smothered a giggle, but not well enough.

“What is it, darling?” her da asked.

She shook her head and pressed her face into his flannel. “Nothing,” she said. She closed her tired eyes and listened to the voices of everyone around her.

It was a very good summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY THAT'S IT WE'RE DONE.  
> This chapter was longer than usual, and also ridiculously happy and fluffy. I'm sorry. I don't even know if it's good fluff or bad fluff because I'm actually really bad at writing it, fufufufu. It took me longer than usual because I could have done a lot of different things and had to decide, but it was my goal to finish this before Dragon*Con, muah.  
> So, some closing remarks! Thank you to everyone who read this, kudos'd, and commented! Seriously. This was just a silly story but I had a lot of fun writing it and it's also really brought me out of a writer's block that I've been stuck in for basically a whole year. Now I'm out and I feel freeeeee!  
> As for this story: I have quite a bit of material, some of which I planned to put in this story but had to cut to keep it uncluttered, so this will more than likely become a series. Possibly with one shots, stories with less chapters that are longer, etc. This story I mostly kept my chapter length from 1.5k to a little over 2k so I could handle a manageable storyline with a bunch of different threads, so in future work I am thinking of breaking that down and maybe focusing on certain ships at a time.  
> You probably noticed I snuck in a lot of song references, so I should probably 'fess up and tell you that the title of this story was taken from the song 'Modern Love' by Mother Mother. Go listen to it. Actually everything that band puts out is amazing. Also, July Talk. Oh, and 'The Lovecats' by The Cure is Bard and Thranduil's unofficial theme song in my head. So maybe go listen to that too. Bah, I'll just make a playlist maybe.  
> That's all! (For now :3)


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